120. Againts Everton PT.1

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As he hung up, he felt something settle in his chest—not uncertainty, not doubt. He was ready.

Sunday, March 1, 2015 – Matchday: Arsenal vs. Everton

The low hum of the engine filled the quiet morning air as Francesco steered his Honda Civic through the streets of London, his hands relaxed on the wheel. The sky was overcast, gray clouds stretching endlessly above, but inside his car, there was a different kind of atmosphere—one charged with anticipation.

It had been a few days since his late-night calls with Leah and Jorge, and their words had lingered in his mind ever since. Confidence. Presence. Control.

Today wasn't just another matchday. Today was the first step in showing the world a different Francesco.

A version of himself that didn't just play well but made sure everyone knew he was playing well.

He glanced at the rearview mirror, catching his own reflection. For years, he had been the talented young player who let his football do the talking. That approach had served him well, but it was time to evolve. Time to make people believe in him the way he believed in himself.

He smirked slightly. No more 'I guess.' No more hesitating.

The soft vibration of his phone snapped him out of his thoughts. He reached over and tapped the screen to answer the call through his car's Bluetooth.

"Morning, superstar," Leah's voice came through, teasing as ever.

Francesco chuckled. "You calling to wish me luck or to make sure I don't bottle my new persona?"

"Both," she admitted. "I saw your interview quotes from yesterday. You're getting the hang of it."

He smirked. The day before, when a journalist asked him how he felt about his recent performances, he didn't give his usual modest response.

"I know what I bring to this team. When I step onto the pitch, I expect to make a difference. That's the standard I hold myself to."

It wasn't arrogance—it was self-assurance. And it made headlines.

"See? Told you it suits you," Leah said, clearly pleased.

"Yeah, well, let's see if I can back it up on the pitch today," he replied.

"You will," she said confidently. "Just don't overthink it. Walk in like you own the place, play your game, and let the world catch up."

Francesco smiled. "Sounds like a plan. I'll call you after the match."

"You better. And don't forget, if you score, I want a celebration with some actual swagger."

He laughed. "Noted. Talk later."

The call ended just as he pulled into the Arsenal Training Center's parking lot. He eased his Civic into his usual spot, cut the engine, and grabbed his backpack from the backseat.

Stepping out of the car, he adjusted the strap over his shoulder and took a deep breath. The crisp morning air carried a quiet energy—matchday energy.

It was time.

Inside the Training Center – Player's Lounge

The lounge was already buzzing when Francesco walked in. Some players were stretched out on the couches, chatting, while others stood around drinking coffee. The coaching staff wasn't here yet, but it wouldn't be long before they all boarded the bus for the Emirates.

As Francesco strolled in, he caught a few looks. Not that it was unusual—he was one of the squad's rising stars, after all—but something felt different today. Maybe it was the way he carried himself.

Straight shoulders. Relaxed stride. A quiet confidence that didn't ask for attention but naturally drew it.

Olivier Giroud, who was leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee, raised an eyebrow. "Look who's walking in like he's about to win the Ballon d'Or."

Francesco smirked. "I might. Give me a couple of years."

A few of the players nearby chuckled at that, but Giroud just grinned, clearly amused. "That's more like it. Someone's been working on his media training."

"Just telling the truth," Francesco replied smoothly, dropping his bag onto a chair.

Aaron Ramsey, sitting on the couch tying his laces, shook his head with a smirk. "You keep talking like that, and the papers are gonna start calling you the next big superstar."

Francesco shrugged. "Then they'd just be catching up to what I already know."

That got a laugh from the room, and even Ramsey seemed impressed. "Alright, alright. I see the new mindset."

Before Francesco could respond, Arsène Wenger walked into the lounge, instantly commanding attention. Behind him were the rest of the coaching staff, all dressed in their Arsenal tracksuits.

"Alright, boys," Wenger called, clapping his hands together. "Let's go."

On the Team Bus – The Ride to the Emirates

Francesco took a window seat, pulling his headphones over his ears as the bus rumbled onto the road. He scrolled through his playlist, landing on something with just the right amount of energy—nothing too aggressive, but something that matched the controlled fire burning inside him.

Across the aisle, Alexis Sánchez nudged him. "You look locked in."

Francesco pulled off one earcup. "I am."

Alexis studied him for a moment before nodding. "Good. Today's a big game."

Francesco just smirked. "They all are."

Alexis grinned at that. "Now you're thinking like a star."

As the bus rolled through the streets of London, past familiar sights and landmarks, Francesco let his thoughts settle.

He knew the cameras would be waiting when they arrived. The media would be watching, analyzing every step, every expression.Sunday, March 1, 2015 – Matchday: Arsenal vs. Everton

The low hum of the engine filled the quiet morning air as Francesco steered his Honda Civic through the streets of London, his hands relaxed on the wheel. The sky was overcast, gray clouds stretching endlessly above, but inside his car, there was a different kind of atmosphere—one charged with anticipation.

It had been a few days since his late-night calls with Leah and Jorge, and their words had lingered in his mind ever since. Confidence. Presence. Control.

Today wasn't just another matchday. Today was the first step in showing the world a different Francesco.

A version of himself that didn't just play well but made sure everyone knew he was playing well.

He glanced at the rearview mirror, catching his own reflection. For years, he had been the talented young player who let his football do the talking. That approach had served him well, but it was time to evolve. Time to make people believe in him the way he believed in himself.

He smirked slightly. No more 'I guess.' No more hesitating.

The soft vibration of his phone snapped him out of his thoughts. He reached over and tapped the screen to answer the call through his car's Bluetooth.

"Morning, superstar," Leah's voice came through, teasing as ever.

Francesco chuckled. "You calling to wish me luck or to make sure I don't bottle my new persona?"

"Both," she admitted. "I saw your interview quotes from yesterday. You're getting the hang of it."

He smirked. The day before, when a journalist asked him how he felt about his recent performances, he didn't give his usual modest response.

"I know what I bring to this team. When I step onto the pitch, I expect to make a difference. That's the standard I hold myself to."

It wasn't arrogance—it was self-assurance. And it made headlines.

"See? Told you it suits you," Leah said, clearly pleased.

"Yeah, well, let's see if I can back it up on the pitch today," he replied.

"You will," she said confidently. "Just don't overthink it. Walk in like you own the place, play your game, and let the world catch up."

Francesco smiled. "Sounds like a plan. I'll call you after the match."

"You better. And don't forget, if you score, I want a celebration with some actual swagger."

He laughed. "Noted. Talk later."

The call ended just as he pulled into the Arsenal Training Center's parking lot. He eased his Civic into his usual spot, cut the engine, and grabbed his backpack from the backseat.

Stepping out of the car, he adjusted the strap over his shoulder and took a deep breath. The crisp morning air carried a quiet energy—matchday energy.

It was time.

Inside the Training Center – Player's Lounge

The lounge was already buzzing when Francesco walked in. Some players were stretched out on the couches, chatting, while others stood around drinking coffee. The coaching staff wasn't here yet, but it wouldn't be long before they all boarded the bus for the Emirates.

As Francesco strolled in, he caught a few looks. Not that it was unusual—he was one of the squad's rising stars, after all—but something felt different today. Maybe it was the way he carried himself.

Straight shoulders. Relaxed stride. A quiet confidence that didn't ask for attention but naturally drew it.

Olivier Giroud, who was leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee, raised an eyebrow. "Look who's walking in like he's about to win the Ballon d'Or."

Francesco smirked. "I might. Give me a couple of years."

A few of the players nearby chuckled at that, but Giroud just grinned, clearly amused. "That's more like it. Someone's been working on his media training."

"Just telling the truth," Francesco replied smoothly, dropping his bag onto a chair.

Aaron Ramsey, sitting on the couch tying his laces, shook his head with a smirk. "You keep talking like that, and the papers are gonna start calling you the next big superstar."

Francesco shrugged. "Then they'd just be catching up to what I already know."

That got a laugh from the room, and even Ramsey seemed impressed. "Alright, alright. I see the new mindset."

Before Francesco could respond, Arsène Wenger walked into the lounge, instantly commanding attention. Behind him were the rest of the coaching staff, all dressed in their Arsenal tracksuits.

"Alright, boys," Wenger called, clapping his hands together. "Let's go."

On the Team Bus – The Ride to the Emirates

Francesco took a window seat, pulling his headphones over his ears as the bus rumbled onto the road. He scrolled through his playlist, landing on something with just the right amount of energy—nothing too aggressive, but something that matched the controlled fire burning inside him.

Across the aisle, Alexis Sánchez nudged him. "You look locked in."

Francesco pulled off one earcup. "I am."

Alexis studied him for a moment before nodding. "Good. Today's a big game."

Francesco just smirked. "They all are."

Alexis grinned at that. "Now you're thinking like a star."

As the bus rolled through the streets of London, past familiar sights and landmarks, Francesco let his thoughts settle.

He knew the cameras would be waiting when they arrived. The media would be watching, analyzing every step, every expression.

The team bus rolled to a stop outside the Emirates Stadium, its arrival met with the usual crowd of photographers, journalists, and fans hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite players. Francesco took a deep breath as he removed his headphones and tucked them into his bag.

As he stepped off the bus, the cameras immediately locked onto him. The usual murmurs from reporters followed, but this time, instead of walking past with his head down, he gave them a smirk and a confident nod before heading inside.

Inside the tunnel, the familiar energy of matchday pulsed through the air. Players and staff moved with purpose, voices echoing off the walls as last-minute preparations were made. Francesco followed the squad toward the locker room, taking in the atmosphere. This wasn't just another game. This was his chance to step forward and take control of his own story.

Pre-Match Warm-Up

The locker room was filled with the sound of zippers, rustling fabric, and the occasional joke between teammates as everyone changed into their training kits. Francesco pulled his shirt over his head and tied the laces of his boots with measured precision.

The squad exited the tunnel onto the Emirates pitch, greeted by the sight of thousands of early-arriving fans. The stadium wasn't full yet, but the energy was already building. Francesco jogged onto the lush grass, feeling the crispness of the air as he and his teammates began their warm-up drills.

For the next 45 minutes, they moved through a series of exercises—dribbling, short passing sequences, shooting drills, and physical conditioning. Francesco focused on every movement, keeping his touches sharp and his shots precise.

As they cycled through the shooting drill, he lined up a ball just outside the box. With one fluid motion, he struck it cleanly with his right foot, watching as it curled beautifully into the top corner.

"That's a statement," Alexis muttered with a grin.

Francesco just smirked.

When the warm-up concluded, they jogged back toward the tunnel. The atmosphere had shifted. The stadium was nearly full now, the fans roaring as the team disappeared into the locker room to prepare for kickoff.

Final Preparations in the Locker Room

Back inside, Francesco sat in front of his locker, staring at his match kit neatly folded before him. His gaze landed on the number 35 printed on the back of his shirt. He ran his fingers over it for a second, then exhaled and pulled it on.

As he adjusted his sleeves, he noticed Wenger stepping forward, clearing his throat to get the team's attention.

"Alright, listen up," Wenger began, his calm but commanding voice cutting through the tension in the room. "We are going with a 4-1-4-1 formation today."

He turned to the tactics board, pointing at the lineup:

• Goalkeeper: David Ospina

• Defenders: Kieran Gibbs, Gabriel Paulista, Laurent Koscielny, Hector Bellerín

• Defensive Midfielder: Francis Coquelin

• Central Midfielders: Santi Cazorla (captain), Mesut Özil

• Wingers: Alexis Sánchez, Francesco Lee

• Striker: Olivier Giroud

The substitutes were also listed: Wojciech Szczęsny, Calum Chambers, Per Mertesacker, Nacho Monreal, Tomáš Rosický, Theo Walcott, and Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain.

Wenger's gaze moved across the players. "Everton will press aggressively, but that's where we take advantage. Stay composed on the ball. Francis, your role is crucial today—shield the defense and win the second balls. Santi and Mesut, dictate the tempo. Alexis and Francesco, stretch their backline, exploit the space behind their fullbacks."

Francesco nodded, absorbing every word.

"You've trained for this," Wenger continued. "Now go out there and show them who we are."

The room buzzed with quiet intensity as players finished taping their wrists, adjusting shin guards, and mentally preparing. Francesco took one last deep breath before standing up, rolling his shoulders back.

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Name : Francesco Lee

Age : 16 (2014)

Birthplace : London, England

Football Club : Arsenal First Team

Championship History : None

Match Played: 16

Goal: 21

Assist: 11

MOTM: 7