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As Francesco sat in the physio room, receiving treatment on his legs, he couldn't help but think about how far he had come in just a few months.
As Francesco drove through the familiar roads leading to London Colney, the morning air was crisp, and the sky carried the pale hues of early spring. The streets were relatively quiet, with only a few cars passing by, allowing him a moment of solitude before the whirlwind of the day began. The hum of his Honda Civic's engine was a steady backdrop to his thoughts, a brief reprieve before the intensity of the coming days.
He turned into the entrance of Arsenal's training ground, giving a slight nod to the security personnel who recognized his car immediately. Parking in his usual spot, he exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair before stepping out. The cold air hit him as he shut the door behind him, a welcome contrast to the warmth of the car's interior.
As he made his way towards the players' lounge, he checked his phone, skimming through messages from friends and family wishing him luck for the upcoming Champions League clash against Juventus. His notifications were filled with mentions and discussions about his recent performances—pundits, journalists, and fans all weighing in on his meteoric rise.
He pushed open the door to the lounge, the familiar scent of coffee and polished wood filling the air. The room was mostly empty, save for a few staff members setting up breakfast and some early arrivals from the medical team preparing for the day's sessions.
Dropping onto one of the leather sofas, he pulled out his phone and instinctively opened Sky Sports' live coverage. The panel discussion was in full swing, featuring Thierry Henry, Ian Wright, Gary Neville, and Roy Keane—four of the most vocal and respected pundits in the game.
The segment was centered around Arsenal's recent form and, more specifically, Francesco's performances. His name was displayed in bold across the screen, with his stats flashing underneath: 18 matches, 24 goals, 8 assists.
Thierry Henry: "Listen, this kid is special. He's doing things that you don't see from a player his age, especially not in the Premier League. The movement, the finishing, the composure—it's elite level. And let's not forget, he's only been in this team since November."
Ian Wright: "I love everything about him. He's got that natural instinct in front of goal, but what impresses me the most is his intelligence. He's not just scoring tap-ins; he's creating space, dragging defenders out of position, and linking up beautifully with the players around him."
Gary Neville: "I'll be honest, when he first broke into the team, I thought, 'Alright, let's see if he can maintain this.' But he's proving every week that he's not just a flash in the pan. These numbers—24 goals in 18 Premier League games—are ridiculous. World-class strikers don't put up those kinds of numbers regularly."
Roy Keane: "The kid's a natural. No nonsense, just gets on with his job. I love his mentality. You don't see him doing silly things off the pitch; he's focused, he works hard, and he delivers. That's what top players do."
Francesco couldn't help but smirk. Hearing praise from legends like Henry and Wright was surreal, but what surprised him most was Keane's approval. The former Manchester United captain wasn't known for handing out compliments easily.
Just as he was about to put his phone away, a new topic caught his attention.
Henry: "And now, Juventus in the Champions League quarter-finals. This is going to be a real test. The Allianz Stadium, against a team that knows how to grind out results in Europe. Can Arsenal handle that kind of pressure?"
Neville: "That's the question. They've been brilliant in the Premier League, but the Champions League is a different beast. Francesco has been their main man up top—how he handles this tie will tell us a lot about where he really stands among Europe's elite."
Francesco took a deep breath. He knew this was his biggest test yet. The Premier League was tough, but the Champions League was a different battlefield. And Juventus? They were a giant, a club with European pedigree, and a defense led by Giorgio Chiellini and Leonardo Bonucci—two of the best center-backs of their generation.
The sound of footsteps snapped him out of his thoughts. He glanced up to see Aaron Ramsey and Jack Wilshere walking in, both carrying cups of coffee.
"Early as always," Ramsey remarked, setting his cup down before flopping onto the couch beside Francesco.
"Gotta be," Francesco replied, stretching his arms above his head. "You lot can afford to roll in late. I need all the prep I can get before dealing with Chiellini and Bonucci."
Wilshere laughed, shaking his head. "Mate, if you keep playing the way you have been, they're gonna be the ones worried about you."
Francesco smirked, but he knew Juventus wouldn't be easy.
One by one, more players trickled in—Olivier Giroud, Alexis Sanchez, Mesut Özil, and Laurent Koscielny among them. Soon, the lounge was buzzing with conversation as the squad gathered before their journey to Turin.
By the time Wenger arrived, the mood had settled into focused anticipation.
"Alright, everyone," Wenger called out, his calm but authoritative voice cutting through the chatter. "Let's get moving."
The team moved with precision, grabbing their bags and heading towards the team bus. As Francesco stepped outside, he pulled his hoodie up against the cool morning air. The sun had risen higher now, casting golden light over the training center's pristine grounds.
The ride to the airport was quiet, most players lost in their own thoughts, listening to music or watching highlights on their phones. Francesco leaned his head against the window, watching as London's streets blurred past.
Upon arriving at the airport, Arsenal's squad moved through check-in smoothly, their status as a top club ensuring an expedited process. A few fans recognized them, snapping photos and offering words of encouragement.
"Big game, Francesco! Get us a goal in Turin!" one fan called out.
He grinned, giving the fan a thumbs-up before heading towards security.
Once past the checkpoints, they settled into the airport lounge, where players grabbed coffee, fruit, and light snacks before boarding.
Francesco found himself seated next to Özil on the plane. The German playmaker, always composed, glanced at him before offering a slight nod.
"You ready?" Özil asked, his voice calm.
Francesco exhaled, adjusting his seatbelt. "As ready as I can be."
Özil smirked. "Good. Just play your game. Don't overthink it. Juventus are tough, but they're not invincible."
Francesco nodded, taking in the advice. The flight to Turin wasn't long, but it gave him just enough time to collect his thoughts, replaying scenarios in his mind—how he'd position himself, how he'd react to Juventus' aggressive defensive line.
As the plane touched down in Italy, the realization set in.
The biggest match of his career was just a day away.
He looked out the window at the city below, taking a deep breath.
As Arsenal's squad disembarked from the plane in Turin, the crisp Italian air greeted them, carrying a mix of spring warmth and a slight evening chill. Francesco took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle in his chest. The Champions League quarter-finals—it didn't get much bigger than this.
With their bags in tow, the players moved efficiently through the airport. A few Juventus fans had gathered near the arrivals area, some snapping photos, others calling out in Italian. Francesco caught snippets of their words—his limited knowledge of the language told him they were discussing Arsenal, debating their chances.
"Arsenal è forte, ma la Juve è più esperta," one older fan remarked to his friend. Arsenal is strong, but Juve has more experience.
Francesco smirked but didn't let it shake him. They were underdogs in many eyes, but that only fueled his determination.
Once they had collected their luggage, the squad made their way to the exit, where a sleek team bus, adorned with the Arsenal crest, waited for them. Security personnel stood nearby, ensuring a smooth departure.
As Francesco climbed aboard, he slid into a seat near the window, his usual travel spot. He pulled out his phone, checking messages from friends and family. A simple text from his father stood out:
"Good luck, son. Play with your heart."
He smiled slightly, typing a quick response before tucking his phone away.
The ride to the hotel was quiet, the players lost in their own thoughts. Özil had his headphones on, Wilshere was flicking through social media, and Ramsey was tapping out messages. Wenger sat towards the front, conversing in low tones with his staff.
Francesco stared out the window, watching as the streets of Turin passed by. The city was a mix of old and new—historical buildings standing proudly beside modern architecture. He had never been here before, but there was a certain charm about it. The closer they got to the hotel, the more he could sense the buzz. Football was a religion in Italy, and Juventus was one of its most sacred institutions.
When they arrived at their hotel, a five-star establishment in the heart of the city, they were quickly ushered inside. The lobby was grand but minimalist, a polished marble floor reflecting the soft glow of chandelier lights. A few hotel staff members greeted them in English, welcoming them with professional smiles.
Wenger, always mindful of discipline and focus, didn't allow for much downtime. Once they had settled into their rooms, they were called down for lunch in the hotel's private restaurant.
The team gathered around a long table, an assortment of nutritious meals laid out before them—grilled chicken, pasta, fresh vegetables, and fruit. Wenger had always been meticulous about diet, ensuring the players fueled their bodies properly.
As Francesco took his seat, Giroud nudged him playfully. "Ready for war tomorrow?"
Francesco chuckled, shaking his head. "I should be asking you that. Chiellini and Bonucci are going to have you in a headlock."
The table erupted in laughter, but Giroud simply shrugged. "Eh, let's see if they can handle us."
Lunch was lively but focused—conversations about the game, Juventus' tactics, and individual battles that would define the match. Wenger, as always, listened more than he spoke, letting the players express their thoughts.
After they finished eating, the squad moved to the hotel's conference room for the tactical briefing. A large screen dominated the front of the room, displaying an analysis of Juventus' recent matches. Wenger stood beside it, hands clasped behind his back as he waited for everyone to settle.
Once the murmurs quieted, he began.
"Tomorrow, we face one of the strongest teams in Europe," he said, his voice calm yet commanding. "Juventus is a team built on discipline. They are defensively compact, experienced, and will not give us space easily."
He clicked a remote, and the screen changed to a tactical breakdown of Juve's defensive setup. Videos played, showing their shape in and out of possession.
"They defend in a 4-4-2 when pressed, but their transitions into attack are quick with changing to 4-3-1-2 formation. Pirlo pulls the strings in midfield. Vidal's physicality and technique make him dangerous, and Tevez—he does not need many chances to score."
Wenger's gaze moved around the room, ensuring every player was absorbing the information.
"Our approach will be patient. We cannot afford to be reckless. Francesco," he turned to him, "your movement off the ball will be crucial. Bonucci likes to step out, but if you time your runs well, we can exploit that."
Francesco nodded, already visualizing scenarios in his head.
As the meeting continued, specific instructions were given—how to press, when to hold shape, and where their biggest opportunities might come from. It was meticulous, but this level of detail was what separated great teams from good ones.
By the time Wenger concluded, the atmosphere was one of quiet determination.
"We have worked too hard to let this slip," he finished. "Tomorrow, we show them who we are."
The players filed out, some discussing tactics further, others keeping their thoughts to themselves. Francesco, feeling the energy coursing through him, decided to take a short walk outside the hotel to clear his mind. He pulled on a hoodie and stepped out onto the terrace, where the cool night air greeted him.
The streets of Turin were alive, the distant hum of cars and chatter filling the space. In the distance, the Allianz Stadium's floodlights could be seen illuminating the skyline.
This was it.
The biggest game of his life awaited.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, taking it all in. Tomorrow, under those bright lights, he would step onto the grandest stage.
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Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 16 (2014)
Birthplace : London, England
Football Club : Arsenal First Team
Championship History : None
Match Played: 25
Goal: 30
Assist: 12
MOTM: 8