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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
Almost everyone agreed on one thing, as they were climbing faster than ever before.
The following afternoon brought a completely different atmosphere to London Colney.
The headlines were still everywhere.
The television discussions continued.
Social media remained full of debates about Arsenal, Liverpool, the title race, and Francesco's comments.
But inside Arsenal's training ground, none of that really mattered.
Because footballers had already moved on.
That was one of the strange realities of elite football.
A match that supporters discussed for weeks became old news for players within days.
The schedule simply didn't allow anything else.
Another opponent was always waiting.
Another challenge.
Another training session.
Another game.
The recovery session that morning had been relatively light.
Some jogging.
Stretching.
Gym work.
Treatment.
Nothing particularly demanding after the physical battle against Liverpool.
Laughter had been common throughout the session.
Players still teasing one another.
Still replaying moments from the match.
Still enjoying the satisfaction of a difficult victory.
Walker had somehow managed to remind everyone about Robertson's claim of running fifteen marathons.
At least six times.
Robertson was considering physical violence.
The rest of the squad found this hilarious.
By early afternoon, most of the first-team players had finished their scheduled work.
Some headed home.
Others went to the recovery rooms.
A few remained in the gym.
The training pitches gradually became quieter.
But not completely.
Because Francesco wasn't finished.
Not even close.
The captain stood near one of the smaller training fields with a football tucked under his arm.
Across the pitch two familiar figures were already jogging toward him.
Bukayo Saka.
Emile Smith Rowe.
Two of Arsenal's brightest young talents.
Two players the entire club believed could become special.
And two players Francesco had taken a personal interest in developing.
Not because anyone had asked him to.
Not because Wenger had assigned him.
Simply because he wanted to.
The Arsenal captain still remembered being young.
Still remembered older players helping him.
Still remembered how much those conversations had mattered.
How much confidence a few words from an experienced teammate could provide.
As Saka approached, Francesco tossed him a ball.
The teenager controlled it instantly.
One touch.
Perfect.
Francesco smiled.
"Not bad."
Saka grinned.
"Not bad?"
"Needs work."
"It was perfect."
"It was acceptable."
Saka laughed.
"You are impossible."
"Captain standards."
"Captain nonsense."
Smith Rowe nearly choked trying not to laugh.
Francesco pointed at him.
"You too."
"I didn't even say anything."
"You were thinking it."
"Fair."
The three laughed together.
The atmosphere immediately relaxed.
Which was exactly how Francesco preferred it.
The best learning often happened when players enjoyed themselves.
Not when everything felt overly serious.
A few moments later several more figures appeared walking across the training ground.
Exactly the people Francesco had requested.
Virgil van Dijk.
Serge Gnabry.
Santi Cazorla.
Three completely different players.
Three completely different skill sets.
Three perfect teachers.
Van Dijk arrived first.
Looking annoyingly fresh for a man who had spent the weekend defending against Liverpool's attack.
The Dutch defender glanced around.
"What's this?"
Francesco pointed toward Saka and Smith Rowe.
"Education."
Van Dijk looked at the youngsters.
Then back at Francesco.
"Am I the teacher or the lesson?"
"The obstacle."
"Excellent."
Saka groaned immediately.
"Oh no."
Van Dijk smiled.
That alone was terrifying enough for attackers.
A smiling Van Dijk usually meant trouble.
A few moments later Gnabry arrived carrying a ball under one arm.
Cazorla followed shortly after.
The Spaniard immediately greeted everyone with his usual warmth.
The former midfielder had become something of a favorite mentor for younger players around the club.
Not because he forced advice on anyone.
Because everyone naturally wanted to learn from him.
His understanding of football bordered on ridiculous.
Francesco gathered everyone together.
"Alright."
The group formed a loose circle.
The captain pointed toward Saka first.
"Today you're working on one-on-one situations."
The winger nodded.
Then Francesco pointed toward Smith Rowe.
"You're working on passing, movement, decision making, and final-third play."
The midfielder nodded as well.
Then Francesco looked at the three senior players.
"Virgil handles defending."
Van Dijk saluted sarcastically.
"Gnabry handles winger work."
The German nodded.
"Cazorla handles midfield creativity."
The Spaniard smiled.
"And you?"
Francesco looked genuinely offended.
"I do everything."
The response immediately generated laughter.
Even Van Dijk couldn't stop himself.
"Of course."
"Leadership."
"Delusion."
"Same thing."
The session began.
Francesco started with Saka.
Specifically dribbling.
Not flashy dribbling.
Not social media dribbling.
Real match dribbling.
The kind that actually worked.
The kind that created goals.
The kind that won football matches.
Several cones had been arranged across the edge of the training area.
Simple setup.
Simple objective.
Control.
Balance.
Acceleration.
Decision-making.
Saka moved through the first sequence comfortably.
Then the second.
Then the third.
Fast.
Sharp.
Technically excellent.
Francesco watched carefully.
Occasionally nodding.
Occasionally correcting small details.
"Lower."
Saka adjusted.
"Explode sooner."
Another adjustment.
"Use your body."
Saka repeated the movement.
Better.
Much better.
Francesco stopped him.
"What are you seeing?"
"The cone."
"Wrong."
Saka frowned.
"The next cone?"
"Still wrong."
The winger looked confused.
Francesco pointed ahead.
"Space."
Saka paused.
Then nodded slowly.
Understanding.
Francesco continued.
"The best dribblers don't attack defenders."
That sounded strange.
Especially coming from someone famous for beating defenders.
The youngsters listened carefully.
"The best dribblers attack space."
He pointed toward the open grass.
"If defenders get in the way, great."
"If they don't, even better."
Saka absorbed every word.
Nearby Gnabry smiled.
Because he completely agreed.
The German stepped forward.
"Come here."
Saka jogged over.
Gnabry placed a ball at his feet.
"What does everyone think wingers do?"
"Beat defenders?"
"Exactly."
Gnabry nodded.
"And that's wrong."
The youngster looked surprised.
The German pointed downfield.
"Wingers create uncertainty."
Now Saka looked interested.
Because that sounded different.
Gnabry demonstrated.
Small movement left.
Small movement right.
Body feint.
Acceleration.
Simple.
But effective.
"The defender should never know what happens next."
Another demonstration.
This time slower.
Every movement deliberate.
Every touch purposeful.
"No wasted motion."
The winger pointed toward his feet.
"Everything tells a story."
Saka repeated the movement.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Each repetition becoming smoother.
More natural.
More dangerous.
Meanwhile, on another section of the pitch, Smith Rowe worked with Cazorla.
Watching Santi teach football was almost mesmerizing.
Not because he shouted.
Not because he demanded attention.
Because he made difficult concepts feel obvious.
The Spaniard placed several mini-goals around the training area.
Then positioned Smith Rowe in the middle.
"Okay."
The youngster waited.
"What do you see?"
Smith Rowe looked around.
"Goals."
Cazorla laughed.
"Good start."
The midfielder grinned.
Then Santi pointed toward the spaces between them.
"What else?"
Smith Rowe thought longer.
"Passing lanes?"
"Exactly."
The Spaniard nodded approvingly.
Then tossed him a ball.
Football immediately came alive.
One-touch passing.
Two-touch combinations.
Movement.
Angles.
Timing.
Rhythm.
Everything flowing together.
Every few minutes Cazorla would stop.
Not to criticize.
To explain.
The difference mattered.
"Why did you choose that pass?"
Smith Rowe answered.
Sometimes correctly.
Sometimes not.
Either way Cazorla helped him understand.
Because elite midfielders didn't simply pass well.
They understood why.
That understanding separated good players from great players.
Across the field Francesco watched briefly.
A smile appearing.
Smith Rowe looked completely engaged.
Completely absorbed.
Exactly as intended.
Then it was time for the most difficult part of the session.
One-on-one battles.
And unfortunately for the youngsters, the defender waiting for them was Van Dijk.
Saka immediately complained.
"This isn't fair."
Van Dijk nodded.
"Correct."
"You're one of the best defenders in the world."
"Also correct."
"This is impossible."
The Dutchman smiled.
"Now you're learning."
The entire group laughed.
Francesco tossed a ball toward Saka.
"Go."
The winger took possession.
Van Dijk waited.
Calm.
Patient.
Not diving in.
Not rushing.
Simply observing.
Saka attacked.
Quick touch.
Body feint.
Acceleration.
Van Dijk matched him effortlessly.
The space disappeared instantly.
The attack ended.
Saka sighed.
"I hate this."
Van Dijk nodded.
"Most attackers do."
Again.
This time different.
Again stopped.
Again unsuccessful.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Every repetition provided another lesson.
Another piece of information.
Another small improvement.
Finally Francesco stepped in.
"What's he doing wrong?"
Van Dijk answered immediately.
"Too predictable."
Saka groaned.
The defender continued.
"You're deciding before you reach me."
That caught the youngster's attention.
Van Dijk pointed toward the ground.
"Good defenders read intentions."
He tapped his head.
"The decision has to happen later."
Francesco nodded.
"Exactly."
The captain collected a ball.
"Watch."
Immediately everyone paid attention.
Even senior professionals still watched Francesco carefully.
The captain approached Van Dijk.
Slowly.
No rush.
No obvious intention.
Nothing revealed.
Then suddenly—
Acceleration.
Body feint.
Shift.
Explosion.
One movement flowed into another.
Van Dijk reacted.
But only just.
The defender managed to recover.
Barely.
The difference was obvious.
Francesco stopped.
"The defender can't know."
He pointed toward Van Dijk.
"If he knows, you're finished."
Saka nodded slowly.
The lesson clicked.
The next attempt looked different.
Not perfect.
But different.
More patience.
More disguise.
More uncertainty.
Van Dijk immediately noticed.
"Better."
The compliment meant something.
Coming from Van Dijk, it always did.
The training continued for over an hour.
Dribbling.
Movement.
Passing.
Finishing.
Decision-making.
One-on-one battles.
Every exercise carefully designed.
Every correction specific.
Every lesson practical.
Eventually they moved toward shooting practice.
The favorite part.
Always.
Because footballers loved scoring goals.
Age didn't matter.
Experience didn't matter.
Everyone loved it.
Francesco demonstrated first.
A simple strike from outside the box.
The ball crashed into the top corner.
Saka shook his head.
"That's annoying."
"What?"
"You make it look easy."
Francesco smiled.
"It isn't easy."
"That doesn't help."
More laughter.
Then the youngsters began shooting.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Each repetition refining technique.
Improving balance.
Improving timing.
Improving confidence.
Occasionally Francesco would step in.
Adjusting body position.
Adjusting approach angles.
Explaining subtle details that often went unnoticed.
The small things.
The things elite players obsessed over.
Because small improvements eventually became major differences.
As the sun slowly began dropping lower across the training ground, the final section arrived.
Free kicks.
Naturally everyone's attention increased.
Because Francesco's free-kick reputation spoke for itself.
Several balls were lined up outside the penalty area.
Saka stepped forward first.
His strike wasn't bad.
But it drifted wide.
Smith Rowe followed.
Closer.
Still not enough.
Francesco collected another ball.
Then looked at both youngsters.
"The biggest mistake?"
"What?" Saka asked.
"Trying to score."
The answer confused them.
Francesco smiled.
"You focus too much on the goal."
He pointed toward the ball.
"Focus on the strike."
Then he stepped back.
A few strides.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing theatrical.
Just routine.
Years of repetition.
Years of practice.
Years of work.
The strike left his foot.
Perfect.
The ball curved beautifully over the wall and into the corner.
Silence.
Then Smith Rowe shook his head.
"That's ridiculous."
Van Dijk agreed.
"Very annoying."
Cazorla laughed.
"Now you know how defenders feel."
Everyone laughed together.
The mood remained light.
The competition remained friendly.
But beneath the jokes existed something important.
Growth.
Development.
Knowledge being passed forward.
Exactly the way football had always worked.
Eventually the session finally ended.
Players gathered the balls.
Cones were collected.
Equipment packed away.
The sun sat low above London Colney now.
The training ground growing quieter once again.
Before leaving, Francesco pulled Saka and Smith Rowe aside.
The two youngsters looked tired.
But happy.
The kind of tired that came from learning.
The kind that came from improvement.
Francesco looked at both of them.
"You know why we did this?"
Neither answered immediately.
Finally Smith Rowe spoke.
"To improve?"
"Partly."
Francesco nodded.
Then he looked between them.
"But also because one day you'll be the ones teaching."
The two youngsters listened carefully.
The captain's voice remained calm.
"No player succeeds alone."
"No career happens alone."
He pointed toward Van Dijk, Gnabry, and Cazorla.
"They helped today."
"Others helped me."
"One day you'll help someone else."
For a few moments nobody spoke.
The message settled naturally.
Because it wasn't really about dribbling.
Or passing.
Or free kicks.
Or one-on-one situations.
It was about culture.
Standards.
Responsibility.
The things that kept great clubs successful.
Eventually Saka smiled.
"We'll remember."
Smith Rowe nodded.
"Definitely."
Francesco grinned.
"Good."
Then he pointed toward the parking lot.
"Now go home before Van Dijk starts charging coaching fees."
The Dutch defender immediately raised a hand.
"Too late."
The group burst into laughter one final time.
And as the evening settled over London Colney, the players gradually departed.
Training was over.
At least officially.
The footballs had been collected.
The cones had disappeared.
The goals had been wheeled back toward storage.
The evening sky above London Colney had begun shifting into shades of orange and dark blue as the sun slowly sank toward the horizon.
Most of the players had already left.
The training ground was noticeably quieter now.
Only the occasional voice echoed across the facility.
A coach speaking with staff.
A groundsman preparing pitches for tomorrow.
The distant hum of maintenance vehicles.
The kind of sounds that appeared when a football club was winding down for the day.
Francesco watched Saka and Smith Rowe walking toward the main building.
The youngsters were still talking about various drills from the session.
Still replaying moments in their heads.
Still discussing things Van Dijk, Gnabry, and Cazorla had told them.
Exactly as he had hoped.
The best sessions didn't end when training finished.
The best sessions stayed inside your head afterward.
As he started walking, Francesco called out.
"Oi."
Both youngsters turned.
"What?" Saka asked.
Francesco shrugged.
"Dinner."
Smith Rowe blinked.
"Dinner?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
The captain looked offended.
"What do you mean why?"
"You don't normally just randomly buy people dinner."
"That's not true."
"It absolutely is."
Francesco pointed dramatically at him.
"You're accusing your captain of being cheap."
"I'm accusing my captain of having motives."
The response generated laughter from everyone nearby.
Even Cazorla nearly dropped the equipment he was carrying.
Francesco shook his head.
"Fine."
Then he smiled.
"I am buying dinner because we spent three hours working and I'm hungry."
"That sounds more believable."
"Good."
Saka grinned.
"So we're going?"
"Obviously."
A few meters away, Van Dijk raised his hand.
"What about us?"
Francesco looked at him.
"You earn enough money to buy your own dinner."
The Dutchman placed a hand over his heart.
"That's hurtful."
"You'll survive."
Gnabry immediately joined in.
"Can I come?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because you'll order the entire menu."
The German considered that.
"Fair."
The group laughed again.
Eventually they headed inside.
The showers felt incredible.
The kind of shower that only athletes truly appreciated.
Hot water.
Tired muscles.
A long day finally ending.
The physical exhaustion from training slowly washing away.
Conversations bounced around the dressing room as players cleaned up.
Nothing serious.
Mostly jokes.
Stories.
Arguments about football.
The usual.
By the time everyone finished changing, footballers once again transformed into ordinary young men.
Training kits disappeared.
Jeans appeared.
Jackets.
Sneakers.
Hoodies.
Normal clothes.
Normal people.
At least as normal as Premier League footballers could be.
Francesco pulled on a dark jacket before grabbing his car keys.
Nearby, Saka and Smith Rowe were finishing up as well.
Both looked significantly younger outside football gear.
Less like professional players.
More like teenagers.
Which, in many ways, they still were.
That reality never escaped Francesco.
People often forgot how young footballers could be.
Supporters saw performances.
Statistics.
Highlights.
They forgot the human beings behind them.
Forgot that some players were still figuring out life while simultaneously performing in front of sixty thousand people every weekend.
Eventually the three headed toward the parking area.
The evening air was cold.
Sharp.
Fresh.
London winter weather.
Francesco unlocked his BMW and looked toward the youngsters.
"You following me?"
"Yeah."
"Try not to get lost."
"We won't."
"I don't trust either of you."
"That's rude."
"Experience."
A few minutes later they were driving away from London Colney.
Not toward central London.
Not toward anywhere glamorous.
Just a comfortable restaurant not far from the training ground.
Somewhere quiet.
Somewhere footballers could eat without attracting too much attention.
Somewhere conversations could happen normally.
⸻
The restaurant wasn't particularly fancy.
That was intentional.
Francesco preferred places that felt real.
Places where people actually enjoyed food instead of photographing it.
The hostess recognized them immediately.
Of course she did.
Three Arsenal players walking through the door tended to attract attention.
But she handled it professionally.
A quick smile.
A polite greeting.
Then she guided them toward a private section near the back.
The atmosphere inside felt warm.
Comfortable.
The smell of fresh food filled the air.
Soft music played quietly overhead.
For the first few minutes, conversation revolved around completely random topics.
Food.
Music.
Video games.
Training.
The kind of conversation people had when they weren't trying to impress anyone.
Menus eventually arrived.
Immediately a problem appeared.
Saka couldn't decide what he wanted.
Smith Rowe wasn't helping.
Francesco regretted bringing them.
"Just order something."
"I'm thinking."
"You've been thinking for ten minutes."
"Important decisions take time."
"It's pasta."
The waiter nearly laughed.
Saka pointed accusingly.
"See? This is what I'm talking about."
"What?"
"You always act like everything is easy."
Francesco smiled.
"Everything is easy."
"It definitely isn't."
"It is if you're right."
Smith Rowe immediately joined in.
"This explains so much."
Eventually food was ordered.
Drinks arrived.
The relaxed atmosphere continued.
For a while.
Then, gradually, the conversation shifted.
Not because anyone forced it.
Because it happened naturally.
The same way most meaningful conversations happened.
Saka was the first to bring it up.
"You know…"
Francesco looked up.
"Dangerous start."
The youngster ignored him.
"When did you realize football was actually happening?"
Francesco leaned back slightly.
"What do you mean?"
"When did you realize you weren't just a kid anymore?"
The question lingered.
Because it was a good one.
A very good one.
Smith Rowe looked interested too.
Clearly he'd wondered the same thing.
Francesco thought for several seconds.
Then smiled.
"The honest answer?"
"Yeah."
"I didn't."
The youngsters frowned.
Francesco laughed.
"I'm serious."
They waited.
"I think people imagine there's a moment."
"A magical moment."
"A moment where suddenly you feel like a superstar."
He shook his head.
"That never happened."
The youngsters listened carefully.
"One day you're trying to earn a place."
"The next day you're trying to keep it."
"The day after that you're trying to improve."
He shrugged.
"It never really stops."
For a moment neither youngster spoke.
Because the answer wasn't what they expected.
Francesco continued.
"The problem starts when people think they've arrived."
That sentence immediately changed the mood.
Not negatively.
Just more serious.
More thoughtful.
The captain leaned forward slightly.
"Football is full of talented players."
"Thousands of them."
"Maybe millions."
He glanced between them.
"You know what ruins a lot of careers?"
Neither answered.
"Ego."
Simple.
Direct.
True.
The table became quiet.
Not uncomfortable.
Reflective.
Francesco took a sip of water.
Then continued.
"A player has five good matches."
"People start praising him."
"Social media says he's incredible."
"Pundits start talking."
"Fans start singing his name."
He tapped the table lightly.
"And suddenly he believes he's already made it."
Saka nodded slowly.
Smith Rowe looked thoughtful.
Because both had already started experiencing pieces of that reality.
Youth prospects became fan favorites quickly.
Sometimes too quickly.
Francesco continued.
"The dangerous thing about football isn't criticism."
That surprised them.
"It's praise."
Now both youngsters looked genuinely interested.
The captain smiled.
"Criticism usually motivates people."
"Praise makes people comfortable."
Nobody interrupted.
Because everyone knew there was truth in that.
"Comfort is dangerous."
He paused.
"Very dangerous."
Their food arrived.
For a few moments the conversation stopped.
Plates were placed down.
The smell alone made everyone immediately hungrier.
But even as they began eating, the discussion continued.
Smith Rowe spoke next.
"Did that ever happen to you?"
Francesco laughed immediately.
"Of course."
The honesty surprised them.
The captain nodded.
"Every footballer goes through it."
Even the best.
Especially the best.
He thought back for a moment.
Then smiled.
"I remember scoring several goals in a short period."
"Everyone suddenly wanted interviews."
"Everyone suddenly wanted photos."
"Everyone suddenly wanted my opinion."
The youngsters listened carefully.
"And for a while I started believing the hype."
"What happened?" Saka asked.
Francesco grinned.
"A defender happened."
The answer generated laughter.
"One very angry defender."
He pointed his fork dramatically.
"Football has a wonderful way of humbling people."
The youngsters laughed.
Because they knew exactly what he meant.
One week you were unstoppable.
The next week someone tackled you so hard your confidence disappeared for three days.
Football rarely allowed arrogance to survive forever.
The conversation continued.
Stories flowed naturally.
Mistakes.
Lessons.
Experiences.
Things they wished someone had explained earlier.
Then Francesco decided to ask a question.
"Do you know what nobody tells young players?"
"What?"
"Your life changes faster than you do."
That caught both youngsters immediately.
The captain continued.
"One day you're normal."
"The next day people recognize you."
"The next day newspapers mention your name."
"The next day thousands of people know who you are."
He shook his head.
"But inside?"
He pointed toward his chest.
"You're still the same person."
Neither Saka nor Smith Rowe spoke.
They didn't need to.
They understood.
Because they were already beginning to experience it themselves.
Recognition.
Attention.
Expectations.
All of it increasing every month.
Francesco's voice remained calm.
"The biggest mistake you can make is believing you're more important than other people."
A simple statement.
But an important one.
"You're footballers."
"That's your job."
He pointed toward the restaurant staff.
"They have jobs too."
The waiter passing nearby.
The chef in the kitchen.
The cleaners.
The groundskeepers at Colney.
The security staff.
Everyone.
Francesco smiled slightly.
"Treat people well."
"Always."
"Especially when nobody is watching."
For several moments the table fell quiet again.
Not because the conversation had become uncomfortable.
Because the message mattered.
Across football there were countless stories.
Young talents who became arrogant.
Players who believed success would last forever.
People who forgot where they came from.
Francesco wanted neither of them becoming one of those stories.
Eventually Smith Rowe spoke softly.
"Have you seen it happen?"
Francesco nodded immediately.
Too many times.
The answer came without hesitation.
"I've seen careers destroyed by talent."
Both youngsters looked confused.
He smiled.
"Not because talent is bad."
"Because talent convinced them they didn't need to work anymore."
That explanation made sense.
Unfortunately.
Francesco looked at them both.
"You two are talented."
Again, neither argued.
There was no point pretending otherwise.
"You know that."
"I know that."
"The club knows that."
He paused.
"But talent isn't special at this level."
That sentence landed heavily.
Because it was true.
Every player in Arsenal's academy was talented.
Every Premier League footballer was talented.
Talent got you through the door.
Everything else determined whether you stayed.
The captain continued.
"Work ethic is special."
"Humility is special."
"Consistency is special."
"Character is special."
Saka slowly nodded.
Smith Rowe did too.
The food continued disappearing from plates as the evening carried on.
The conversation moved between serious topics and lighter moments.
Stories about teammates.
Funny dressing-room incidents.
Training-ground disasters.
Van Dijk accidentally flattening people in practice.
Walker talking too much.
Robertson complaining about running.
Normal football life.
But every now and then the discussion returned to something deeper.
Something important.
Near the end of the meal, Francesco finally leaned back in his chair.
The restaurant had become quieter now.
A few customers remained.
The evening slowly settling around them.
The captain looked at both youngsters.
Really looked at them.
Not as prospects.
Not as future stars.
As young men.
Still learning.
Still growing.
Still vulnerable to the same mistakes every generation made.
His voice softened slightly.
"You know what I actually want?"
"What?" Saka asked.
Francesco smiled.
"I want you both to become better players than me."
The statement surprised them.
Genuinely surprised them.
Smith Rowe laughed.
"That's impossible."
"So was playing for Arsenal once."
The midfielder immediately fell silent.
Because that was true.
Francesco continued.
"I don't care about being remembered as the best."
"I care about leaving Arsenal stronger than I found it."
The words carried weight.
Not because they sounded impressive.
Because he meant them.
The youngsters could tell.
"One day this club will belong to your generation."
He pointed between them.
"Not mine."
"Yours."
The restaurant seemed quieter than ever.
Almost as if the world itself was listening.
Francesco smiled.
"So when that day comes…"
He paused.
"…don't become idiots."
For one second there was complete silence.
Then Saka burst out laughing.
Smith Rowe nearly dropped his drink.
The serious speech had completely collapsed.
Exactly as Francesco intended.
"You ruined the moment."
"No."
The captain grinned.
"I improved it."
The laughter continued.
Long.
Genuine.
Comfortable.
The kind shared between teammates who trusted one another.
Eventually the bill arrived.
Francesco paid before either youngster could argue.
Predictably.
Then the three stood and made their way toward the exit.
Outside, the night air felt cold again.
The parking lot nearly empty.
The restaurant lights glowing softly behind them.
For a few moments nobody spoke.
Then Saka looked toward Francesco.
"Thanks."
The captain nodded.
"No problem."
Smith Rowe smiled.
"For dinner."
Francesco shrugged.
"For the conversation."
The captain smiled.
"That too."
The youngsters climbed into their cars shortly afterward.
Engines started.
Headlights illuminated the darkness.
One by one they pulled away from the restaurant.
Heading home.
Heading toward tomorrow.
And as Francesco watched them leave, he felt strangely satisfied.
Not because of goals.
Not because of trophies.
Not because of headlines.
Those things mattered.
Of course they did.
But this felt important too.
Maybe even more important.
Because somewhere between the training session and dinner, between the jokes and the life lessons, between football and everything outside football, two young Arsenal players had learned something valuable.
Not how to dribble.
Not how to shoot.
Not how to take free kicks.
Something bigger.
How to stay grounded when success arrived.
How to handle attention.
How to remain humble.
How to become professionals.
And in Francesco's experience, those lessons often lasted far longer than anything that happened on a football pitch.
______________________________________________
Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 18 (2016)
Birthplace : London, England
Football Club : Arsenal First Team
Championship History : 2014/2015 Premier League, 2014/2015 FA Cup, 2015/2016 Community Shield, 2016/2017 Premier League, 2015/2016 Champions League, Euro 2016, Premier League Champion 2016/2017, and 2016/2017 Champions League.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 28
Goal: 35
Assist: 1
MOTM: 4
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 2
Goal: 2
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
Season 16/17 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 55
Goal: 87
Assist: 5
MOTM: 14
POTM: 1
England:
Match: 1
Goal: 1
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
Season 15/16 stats:
Arsenal:
Match Played: 60
Goal: 82
Assist: 10
MOTM: 9
POTM: 1
England:
Match Played: 2
Goal: 4
Assist: 0
Euro 2016
Match Played: 6
Goal: 13
Assist: 4
MOTM: 6
Season 14/15 stats:
Match Played: 35
Goal: 45
Assist: 12
MOTM: 9