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Francesco met his manager's gaze and nodded. "I won't hesitate, boss." With that, they stepped back onto the pitch.
The second half kicked off with Arsenal determined to turn the tide. The team, now fueled by Wenger's words and Mertesacker's leadership, came out with a renewed sense of urgency. The first 15 minutes saw Arsenal attacking with even more confidence, moving the ball with precision and intent, forcing Monaco deeper into their own half.
Francesco, eager to make an impact, found himself at the center of Arsenal's best moves. In the 48th minute, he received a pass from Özil just outside the box. With a quick turn, he shifted the ball to his right foot and unleashed a curling effort toward the far post. The ball seemed destined for the top corner.
But once again, Subašić refused to be beaten.
The Croatian goalkeeper flung himself to his left, stretching every inch of his frame to tip the ball over the bar. The Arsenal fans in the away section groaned in disbelief.
Francesco placed his hands on his head, breathing heavily. How? How was this still happening?
From the resulting corner, Cazorla swung in a dangerous delivery. Mertesacker rose highest, meeting the ball with a towering header. The effort was powerful, aimed downward, bouncing just before the goal line.
Yet, Subašić was there again.
Reacting with almost unnatural speed, he parried the ball away. The rebound fell to Giroud, who lashed a shot toward goal. This time, it was Monaco's defenders who saved them, as Fabinho threw himself in front of the ball, blocking it at point-blank range.
The frustration grew, but Arsenal didn't let it deter them. They knew they were the better team. They knew they had Monaco pinned.
In the 52nd minute, Alexis Sánchez drove forward down the left, skipping past two defenders before slipping the ball inside to Francesco. Francesco took a quick touch and flicked a pass into Giroud's path. The French striker had only a split second to react but managed to get a shot away.
Subašić, again, somehow, made the save.
At this point, it was absurd.
Arsenal's dominance was evident, but Monaco refused to break. Every time they cleared the ball, they looked to counter with blistering speed.
In the 55th minute, João Moutinho won the ball in midfield and launched a counterattack. He found Anthony Martial, who sprinted down the left flank with blistering pace. Laurent Koscielny and Per Mertesacker scrambled back, trying to keep up, but Martial was electric.
He cut inside and slipped a pass through to Dimitar Berbatov, who found himself with a clear sight of goal. The Monaco fans erupted in anticipation.
Berbatov struck it cleanly.
But Ospina was up to the task.
The Colombian goalkeeper got down quickly, making a crucial save with his left hand. The ball rebounded into a dangerous area, but Bellerín reacted first, clearing it away before Martial could pounce.
It was a frantic, chaotic passage of play.
Monaco, despite Arsenal's control, were still dangerous on the break.
By the 60th minute, the game was wide open. Arsenal continued to press, flooding forward in search of the goal that had eluded them all night. Francesco was everywhere—linking play, making runs, testing Subašić whenever he got a chance.
Yet, Monaco's resistance held firm.
Wenger paced the touchline, his hands on his hips, deep in thought. He knew his team was playing well. He knew they were doing everything right.
But football could be cruel.
And so far, it was being cruel to Arsenal.
The game had felt like it was tilting in Arsenal's favor. The chances had been there, the pressure was unrelenting, and yet, the scoreline remained stubbornly unchanged.
Then, in the 58th minute, disaster struck.
Monaco, who had spent most of the second half absorbing wave after wave of Arsenal attacks, suddenly found an opening. It was a moment of hesitation—perhaps a moment of fatigue—from the Arsenal defense. A seemingly harmless clearance fell to Nabil Dirar on the right flank.
Dirar, sensing an opportunity, looked up and whipped in a teasing cross into the box. It was a hopeful ball, one that seemed routine for the Arsenal defenders to deal with. But Anthony Martial had other ideas.
The young French forward ghosted in between Mertesacker and Koscielny with an instinctive run. The cross came in at just the right height, and with a perfectly timed leap, Martial met it with a bullet header.
The ball rocketed past Ospina.
The net rippled.
Stade Louis II erupted.
Martial wheeled away in celebration, sprinting toward the corner flag as his teammates swarmed him.
For a moment, there was silence in the Arsenal camp.
Francesco, standing near the halfway line, felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs. He turned slowly, watching Ospina pick the ball out of the net, his face a picture of frustration.
The Arsenal defenders exchanged looks of disbelief.
Wenger stood frozen on the touchline, hands on his head.
5-4 on aggregate.
This was a disaster.
Arsenal needed a goal. Desperately. They had 30 minutes to salvage their Champions League hopes. But now, Monaco had all the momentum.
The moment play restarted, Arsenal pushed forward with a renewed sense of urgency. There was no time for self-pity. No time to dwell on what had just happened.
They needed to score.
Fast.
Francesco moved into a more advanced position, practically playing as a second striker alongside Giroud. Wenger had made his instructions clear before the match—take risks. Francesco had been testing Subašić all game, but now, with elimination looming, he had to do more.
In the 62nd minute, Arsenal nearly pulled one back.
Cazorla received the ball near the edge of the box and slid a clever pass into the feet of Alexis Sánchez. The Chilean turned sharply and fired a shot toward the bottom corner.
This time, it wasn't Subašić who denied Arsenal—it was the post.
The ball clattered off the woodwork, rebounding back into play. Francesco was the first to react. He sprinted forward, stretching to meet the loose ball, but Subašić was already there, smothering it just as Francesco lunged in.
Another chance gone.
Another moment of disbelief.
Arsenal were playing with fire, throwing bodies forward in search of a lifeline, but Monaco remained a threat on the counter.
In the 66th minute, they nearly put the tie to bed.
Martial, full of confidence after his goal, burst forward again, outpacing Koscielny before squaring the ball to João Moutinho at the edge of the box. The Portuguese midfielder struck it first-time, and for a split second, it looked like the ball was destined for the bottom corner.
But Ospina, once again, came up big.
Diving low to his right, he got his fingertips to the shot, pushing it around the post.
Wenger clapped his hands on the touchline, urging his players forward. Time was running out.
With just over 20 minutes left, Wenger made his move.
Cazorla off. Walcott on.
Arsenal needed fresh legs. They needed speed.
The change had an immediate effect. Walcott's pace stretched Monaco's defense, forcing them to sit deeper. It gave Arsenal more space to operate in midfield, and they began to dictate the tempo once again.
Then, in the 74th minute, came the moment Arsenal had been waiting for.
It started with Özil.
The German playmaker, who had been relatively quiet in the second half, suddenly came alive. Receiving the ball just past the halfway line, he spotted Francesco making a darting run between the center-backs.
With a perfectly weighted pass, Özil split the Monaco defense open.
Francesco was through.
The entire stadium held its breath.
One-on-one with Subašić.
It was now or never.
Francesco took one touch to control the ball, another to set himself, and then, with the composure of a seasoned striker, he lifted the ball over the onrushing Subašić.
Time seemed to slow as the ball floated through the air.
Then—
The net bulged.
Goal.
Francesco didn't even have time to think. He just ran. Sprinting toward the away fans, arms outstretched, roaring in celebration.
His teammates swarmed him.
Arsenal were level on aggregate.
5-5.
Suddenly, the impossible felt possible.
With the score tied at 5-5 on aggregate, Arsenal could feel the momentum shifting in their favor. The equalizing goal had rattled Monaco. Their once-impenetrable defensive structure now looked vulnerable, and Arsenal were relentless in their pursuit of another goal—the one that would send them through to the quarter-finals.
Francesco, still buzzing from his earlier strike, could see it in the faces of Monaco's players. They were starting to feel the pressure. The confidence they had exuded earlier in the match was slowly eroding, replaced by frustration. Arsenal sensed it. The Gunners were in control now, dictating the tempo of the game with quick, precise passes that forced Monaco into a defensive shell.
By the 75th minute, Monaco's patience was wearing thin. They had stopped trying to play out from the back and instead resorted to long clearances, hoping to relieve the pressure. Arsenal, however, were winning the second balls and immediately launching fresh attacks.
The frustration boiled over in the 77th minute when Fabinho clattered into Özil near the touchline. The referee wasted no time in producing a yellow card. It was Monaco's fifth foul in the span of ten minutes.
Moments later, Wallace lunged into a reckless challenge on Francesco, who had dropped deep to receive a pass from Ramsey. The crunching tackle sent Francesco tumbling to the ground, and the referee was quick to blow the whistle. Arsenal's players surrounded Wallace, demanding a card, while Francesco grimaced in pain as he got back to his feet.
Wenger, the pragmatist, knew his team needed fresh legs. With just over ten minutes left to play, he made a bold decision.
In the 78th minute, Wenger called over Danny Welbeck and Aaron Ramsey.
Alexis Sánchez, who had run himself into the ground, and Francis Coquelin, who had been a rock in midfield, made way for the two fresh substitutes.
Ramsey slotted into midfield alongside Walcott, adding another fresh presence, while Welbeck's pace gave Arsenal another outlet in attack.
As the substitutions were being made, Francesco walked over to Giroud and clapped him on the back.
"This is it, Oli," he said, breathing heavily. "One more goal, and we're through."
Giroud nodded, determination burning in his eyes.
Monaco, sensing the danger, dropped deeper. They were no longer pressing Arsenal's midfield, instead sitting back with ten men behind the ball. They knew they couldn't afford to concede again.
For Arsenal, it was all or nothing. They pushed forward in numbers, probing for openings, stretching Monaco's defensive line, waiting for a mistake.
Walcott had a chance in the 82nd minute after a clever one-two with Özil, but his shot was blocked by Abdennour at the last second. The rebound fell to Francesco, who unleashed a thunderous volley—but Subašić, once again, was there to parry it away.
Arsenal couldn't believe it.
Would this goal ever come?
Monaco, meanwhile, were still dangerous on the break. In the 85th minute, Martial broke free down the left once more, using his pace to escape Bellerín. He drove toward the box, then cut the ball back to Moutinho, who fired a low shot toward the bottom corner.
Ospina, for the umpteenth time that night, produced a crucial save. The Colombian goalkeeper had kept Arsenal alive, and now, with the clock ticking toward 90 minutes, they had one last chance to finish the job.
The 89th minute.
Stade Louis II was tense. The Monaco fans, once boisterous, had grown quiet. They knew that if Arsenal scored now, it would be over.
Arsenal built the attack slowly, with Ramsey orchestrating from midfield. He played a quick pass to Özil, who flicked it out wide to Bellerín.
The right-back, instead of crossing immediately, recycled possession, playing it back to Ramsey.
Then, something magical happened.
Arsenal's players moved instinctively, playing one-touch passes, shifting Monaco's defense from side to side. It was pure Wengerball—beautiful, intricate, and devastating.
Ramsey to Welbeck.
Welbeck back to Ramsey.
Ramsey spotted Giroud making a run between the center-backs.
A perfect through ball.
Giroud controlled it. One touch.
Then, with the confidence of a man who had done this a thousand times before, he unleashed a shot.
Time stood still.
Subašić, the hero for Monaco all night, dived, stretching desperately to his right.
But this time, he couldn't reach it.
The ball crashed into the net.
2-2 Arsenal.
6-5 on aggregate.
The Arsenal bench exploded.
Wenger, usually composed, leapt from his seat, fists clenched in triumph.
The away fans went wild, screaming, hugging, celebrating.
On the pitch, Giroud was mobbed by his teammates.
Francesco ran to him, grabbing his shirt.
"You did it!" he shouted over the roar of the crowd.
"We did it," Giroud corrected, beaming.
Monaco had one last desperate attack, launching the ball forward in stoppage time, but Arsenal held firm.
And then—
The referee blew the final whistle.
It was over.
Arsenal had done it.
Against all odds, they had overturned the deficit and secured their place in the Champions League quarter-finals.
Francesco fell to his knees, overwhelmed. He had dreamed of nights like this.
Giroud pumped his fists. Ramsey and Welbeck embraced. Ospina was swarmed by his teammates.
On the other side, Monaco's players sank to the ground in despair. They had been so close.
But this night belonged to Arsenal.
This night belonged to their belief, their resilience, their never-say-die attitude.
Wenger walked onto the pitch, shaking hands, patting players on the back.
As Francesco stood up, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
Wenger.
"You were brilliant tonight," the manager said, smiling.
Francesco, still catching his breath, nodded. "We all were."
Wenger chuckled. "Yes, we were."
As the Arsenal players walked toward the away fans to celebrate, Francesco looked around.
He would never forget this night.
A night where Arsenal defied the odds.
A night where they proved that football was about more than tactics and statistics—it was about heart. And Arsenal had shown they had more heart than anyone.
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Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 16 (2014)
Birthplace : London, England
Football Club : Arsenal First Team
Championship History : None
Match Played: 22
Goal: 27
Assist: 12
MOTM: 8