122. Againts Everton PT.3

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The Emirates was alive with energy, but now, it was about maintaining their composure in the second half. If they could ride out this pressure and keep Everton at bay, they had a real chance to build on their lead and seal the victory. But Wenger knew that Everton would come out swinging after the break. The second half promised to be just as intense as the first.

As the referee blew the whistle to signal the end of the first half, Arsenal's players exchanged quick nods and words of encouragement before making their way toward the tunnel. The Emirates crowd applauded, showing their appreciation for the team's resilience in the face of relentless Everton pressure. Despite the narrow 1-0 lead, it had been a demanding half, both physically and mentally.

Francesco wiped the sweat from his forehead as he walked alongside Giroud and Özil, the trio exchanging glances of understanding. They had done well, but the job was far from finished. Everton had proven they weren't going to go down easily, and if Arsenal wanted all three points, they would need to be just as sharp—if not sharper—in the second half.

Inside the locker room, the atmosphere was a mix of exhaustion and focus. Players dropped onto the benches, some taking deep breaths, others grabbing water bottles and towels to cool down. The physios moved around, tending to minor knocks and stretching out tired muscles. The air was thick with both the lingering tension of the first half and the anticipation of the battle still to come.

Francesco sat down, grabbing a bottle of water and taking a long sip. His mind was already processing the game, replaying moments where he could have done better. His first-time shot that Howard had saved—should he have placed it differently? Could he have waited an extra second to read the goalkeeper's movement? These were the little things that made the difference at this level.

Wenger entered the room a few moments later, his presence commanding immediate attention. The murmurs died down as all eyes turned toward him. He wasn't one for fiery speeches; his approach was always measured, calculated. He knew how to deliver exactly what his players needed to hear.

"Good half," Wenger began, his voice calm but firm. "We controlled the game well for large spells, and the goal was deserved. But make no mistake—Everton are still very much in this match. They're going to come out even stronger in the second half. They'll press higher, they'll take more risks, and they'll look to exploit any lapse in concentration. We cannot afford to drop our focus, not even for a second."

He turned to the defenders first. "Koscielny, Paulista, excellent work keeping Lukaku quiet. But be ready—he will get more aggressive. He'll try to pin you down, and he will look for second balls. We need to stay compact and disciplined."

His gaze then shifted to the midfield. "Cazorla, Coquelin, your transitions have been good, but I want you to be a step quicker in releasing the ball when we win it back. We cannot let Everton pin us deep. The quicker we move it, the more space we'll find in behind."

Then, Wenger looked at Francesco, Özil, and Sánchez. "Our attacking movement has been sharp, but we can do more. Francesco, I want you to stay intelligent with your runs. You're finding good spaces, but make sure you're always an option when we break forward. Özil, Sánchez—keep linking up like you have been. Their fullbacks are pushing high, which means there will be gaps to exploit. Stay patient, and the chances will come."

Finally, he addressed the whole squad. "We have the lead, but this game is not over. If we get a second goal, we kill their momentum. But if we sit back and invite pressure, we give them belief. Play smart, play fast, and keep your composure."

The room was silent for a moment, the weight of his words settling in. Francesco leaned back against the wall, his mind absorbing the instructions while also forming his own personal plan for the second half. He knew Everton were going to push even harder, which meant he had to be decisive when he got the ball. Every touch, every pass, every movement had to count.

As the fifteen-minute break came to an end, the players rose one by one, shaking off the fatigue and switching back into game mode. The second half was about to begin, and Arsenal had to be ready for whatever Everton threw at them.

With one final deep breath, Francesco stood up, rolling his shoulders as he followed his teammates out of the locker room and back toward the pitch.

As the Arsenal players stepped back onto the pitch, the roar of the Emirates crowd filled the stadium, a mix of anticipation and nerves. The first half had been a battle, but the second half was shaping up to be even tougher. Francesco took his position, scanning the Everton players as they huddled together one last time before resuming play. He could see it in their eyes—Everton weren't backing down. They were determined to find an equalizer, and Arsenal had to be ready.

From the moment the referee blew the whistle to start the second half, Everton came out like a team possessed. Their intent was clear: they were going to throw everything they had at Arsenal. Within seconds, Barkley received the ball and immediately drove forward, shrugging off Coquelin's challenge before threading a pass to Lukaku. The Belgian striker held off Koscielny and laid it off to Mirallas, who sprinted down the right wing before whipping a dangerous cross into the box.

Paulista managed to clear it, but it was only a temporary reprieve. Everton were relentless. Every loose ball was theirs, every second ball was contested with intensity. McCarthy and Barry controlled the midfield, dictating the tempo, forcing Arsenal deeper and deeper into their own half.

Francesco found himself tracking back more than he would have liked. He had to help out defensively, pressing Everton's midfielders, cutting off passing lanes, and ensuring that Bellerín and Gibbs weren't overwhelmed by the constant waves of attack. He could feel the frustration creeping in—not because Arsenal were defending, but because they could barely get a foothold in possession.

By the 50th minute, Arsenal had only managed two counterattacks, neither of which amounted to much. One came from a long clearance by Koscielny, which Giroud flicked on to Francesco. He tried to carry the ball forward, but Stones was quick to close him down, forcing him to play it back to Özil, who was immediately swarmed by Everton players.

Everton's pressing was suffocating. They weren't just attacking with speed; they were calculated, patient in possession, waiting for the right opening. Lukaku was a nightmare to deal with, constantly pulling wide to drag the center-backs out of position. Besic, clever with his movement, always seemed to be in the right place to receive the ball and turn toward goal.

In the 53rd minute, Everton nearly found their equalizer. A precise through-ball from Barry split the defense, finding Mirallas just inside the box. The winger took a touch to steady himself before drilling a low shot toward the bottom corner.

Ospina reacted quickly, diving low to his left to make a fingertip save, pushing the ball just wide of the post. The Emirates collectively exhaled in relief, but Everton weren't done yet.

The resulting corner was whipped in dangerously by Barkley, curling toward the far post where Lukaku was lurking. The Belgian outjumped everyone, directing a powerful header toward goal.

Ospina was beaten this time, but fortunately for Arsenal, Gibbs was there on the line, heading the ball away just inches before it crossed. The clearance fell to Coleman, who immediately struck a volley from outside the box, but his shot sailed over the bar.

Arsenal were hanging on.

By the 60th minute, it was all Everton. Arsenal had barely been able to string together more than five passes in a row. Every clearance felt like a temporary measure rather than a solution. They had only managed five counterattacks in the last twenty minutes, and none had led to a clear chance.

One of those rare breaks came in the 57th minute when Coquelin won possession in midfield, quickly feeding Cazorla, who spotted Sánchez making a run down the left. The Chilean sprinted forward, cutting inside past Coleman before laying it off to Francesco on the edge of the box.

This was it. A chance to relieve the pressure.

Francesco took a quick touch, shifting the ball onto his stronger foot, before firing a low shot toward the bottom corner. It was well-hit, but Howard got down quickly, parrying it away. Giroud rushed in for the rebound, but Jagielka reacted first, clearing the danger.

It was frustrating, but it was a reminder that Arsenal could still be dangerous if given the chance.

Wenger, pacing on the sidelines, shouted instructions, urging his players to stay compact. The longer they could hold out, the more desperate Everton would become, and that could open up space for Arsenal to exploit.

The next ten minutes were a test of resilience. Everton refused to slow down. Barkley hit another long-range shot in the 64th minute that flew just over the bar. Lukaku had a close-range effort blocked by Paulista. Mirallas had another dangerous run into the box, only for Bellerín to make a last-ditch tackle.

Arsenal weren't just defending—they were surviving.

Francesco could feel the weight of the game pressing down on him. His legs were burning, his lungs begged for air, but he knew this was the moment where champions were made. If Arsenal could weather this storm, they could take control again.

And then, in the 67th minute, Arsenal finally got their moment.

Everton had committed too many bodies forward, leaving themselves vulnerable to a counterattack. Coquelin intercepted a pass from Barry and immediately looked up.

Francesco was already sprinting.

Coquelin sent a perfectly weighted through-ball into space, and Francesco raced onto it, with only Jagielka between him and Howard. The crowd rose to their feet as Francesco approached the box. He could feel Jagielka closing in, but he remained composed, taking one touch before shifting the ball onto his left foot.

Then, with the precision of a seasoned striker, he curled his shot past Howard and into the far corner.

The Emirates erupted.

Francesco didn't even have time to think before he was mobbed by his teammates, their cheers drowning out everything else. It had been a long, grueling twenty minutes of defense, but with one clinical moment, Arsenal had doubled their lead.

Everton, stunned, suddenly found themselves with a mountain to climb. Their momentum, which had been relentless for the past twenty minutes, had been shattered.

The Emirates was still shaking from Francesco's goal as the players reset for the kickoff. The relief was evident in every Arsenal player, but they knew the job wasn't done. Everton weren't going to roll over, not yet.

As soon as the game resumed, Wenger made his move. The fourth official raised the board, signaling a double substitution for Arsenal.

OUT: Coquelin, Sánchez

IN: Rosický, Oxlade-Chamberlain

Coquelin, who had worked tirelessly breaking up play, walked off to a loud round of applause, his shift in midfield earning the respect of the crowd. Sánchez, who had been a constant threat down the left, gave a quick handshake to Rosický before jogging off to the bench, his expression one of satisfaction.

Wenger's plan was clear. With Rosický on, Arsenal would have an extra playmaker capable of controlling possession and keeping the tempo high. Oxlade-Chamberlain's introduction meant fresh legs on the wing, adding pace to stretch Everton's already tired defenders.

As play restarted, Arsenal took control. Gone were the frantic, desperate clearances from earlier. Now, with a two-goal cushion, they could dictate the rhythm.

And they did just that.

From the 70th minute onward, Arsenal played with a newfound confidence. The defensive struggles of the previous 25 minutes seemed like a distant memory as they began stringing passes together, moving the ball effortlessly between the lines.

Rosický, immediately involved, was everywhere in midfield. He linked up with Cazorla and Özil, always offering himself as an outlet, ensuring Arsenal maintained their grip on the game. His experience showed—he knew exactly when to slow the game down and when to inject pace.

Oxlade-Chamberlain's pace was causing Coleman problems down the right. In the 74th minute, he nearly created a third goal after a bursting run down the flank. Beating Coleman with a clever feint, he drove into the box and squared the ball toward Giroud. But Jagielka, sensing the danger, stretched out a leg to block the pass at the last moment.

The momentum had completely shifted. Arsenal, once under siege, were now the team in control.

By the 78th minute, the stats reflected the dominance—Arsenal had 65% possession, a stark contrast to the opening 20 minutes of the half when Everton had them pinned deep.

Özil, at the heart of everything, was weaving his magic, finding pockets of space, effortlessly keeping the ball moving. One-touch passes, clever flicks—it was vintage Özil.

Everton, now forced to chase, were tiring. Their pressing had lost its intensity, their movements a fraction slower. Every misplaced pass from them was met with groans from their fans.

In the 82nd minute, Arsenal nearly made it three.

After a patient buildup, Rosický found Francesco in space just outside the box. Without hesitation, Francesco let fly with a curling shot toward the top corner. The Emirates held its breath as the ball arched toward goal—only for Howard to make an acrobatic save, tipping it just over the bar.

The corner that followed was another display of Arsenal's dominance. Özil's delivery was perfect, curling toward the penalty spot. Giroud rose highest, meeting the ball with a powerful header—but again, Howard was there, palming it away.

Everton were holding on, but just barely.

As the clock ticked toward the 89th minute, Arsenal patiently worked the ball around, waiting for the right opening. Everton had all but accepted defeat, their movements sluggish, their pressing almost nonexistent.

Then, the moment arrived.

Özil, as if playing on a different wavelength than everyone else, picked out Rosický with a brilliant no-look pass, slicing through Everton's defense.

Rosický, in acres of space just inside the box, took one touch to steady himself before firing a clinical shot past Howard.

GOAL!

The Emirates erupted once more.

Rosický, arms wide, ran toward the corner flag, a wide grin on his face. His teammates surrounded him, congratulating him on what was the perfect exclamation mark on Arsenal's performance.

On the sidelines, Wenger allowed himself a rare smile. This was exactly how he wanted his team to play—dominant, composed, and ruthless when it mattered.

Everton, demoralized, simply went through the motions for the final few minutes.

When the referee finally blew for full-time, Arsenal's players exchanged high-fives and hugs. They had been pushed to their limits in the second half, but they had passed the test.

A 3-0 victory, and a performance that showed resilience, quality, and most importantly—control.

As Francesco walked off the pitch, he felt a deep sense of satisfaction. He had scored, contributed in defense, and played a key role in the team's success. This was the kind of performance that made champions. And Arsenal were proving they could be just that.

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Name : Francesco Lee

Age : 16 (2014)

Birthplace : London, England

Football Club : Arsenal First Team

Championship History : None

Match Played: 17

Goal: 22

Assist: 11

MOTM: 7