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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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And everyone understood that European dreams were only completed when the final whistle of the second leg had finally been blown.
The applause followed Arsenal all the way to the touchline.
It did not fade as quickly as it usually did after a league match.
Instead, it rolled around the Emirates in wave after wave, supporters lingering in their seats simply to acknowledge what they had witnessed.
Five goals.
A clean sheet.
A Champions League semi-final played with authority from beginning to end.
Yet the players themselves celebrated with restraint.
There were smiles.
Handshakes.
Brief embraces.
Nothing more.
The job, everyone knew, was only halfway complete.
Francesco exchanged one last wave with the Clock End before turning toward the tunnel alongside Walker, Van Dijk and Robertson.
"You know," Walker said, shaking his head with a tired grin, "I quite enjoyed that."
Robertson laughed.
"I never would have guessed."
"You can tell because I barely complained all night."
"Barely?"
"Alright… maybe once."
Van Dijk smiled.
"That's progress."
The four disappeared beneath the stands, where the noise of the stadium became a distant echo behind thick concrete walls.
Stewards lined the corridor.
UEFA officials moved between media rooms carrying clipboards and headsets.
Camera operators wheeled equipment toward interview positions.
Francesco had almost reached the dressing-room entrance when a UEFA media officer stepped politely into his path.
"Francesco?"
He stopped.
"Yes?"
"Could I borrow you for a moment, please?"
The official smiled apologetically.
"Flash interview."
Walker pointed toward the interview area.
"We'll save you a seat."
"And don't take too long," Robertson added. "I'm hungry."
Francesco chuckled.
"I'll be as quick as I can."
The flash interview area had already been prepared.
Champions League sponsor boards covered the backdrop.
Bright television lights illuminated the small platform.
Several cameras were already live as the presenter welcomed viewers across Europe.
As Francesco stepped into position, the presenter offered a warm handshake.
"Congratulations on an outstanding performance."
"Thank you."
The interviewer smiled toward the main camera before beginning.
"Francesco, Arsenal have just won the first leg of a Champions League semi-final five-nil against AS Roma. What are your immediate thoughts after a performance like that?"
Francesco took a moment before answering.
"I'm proud of the team."
"Everyone worked incredibly hard tonight."
"We defended together."
"We attacked together."
"Matches like this aren't won by one player."
"They're won because every person on the pitch follows the same plan."
The presenter nodded.
"You scored twice and captained the side superbly. Did tonight feel like one of your best European performances?"
He smiled modestly.
"It felt like one of our best performances."
"My goals came because Mesut, Serge, Alexis, our midfield, our defenders as everyone created the situations."
"As a striker you're often the player who finishes the move."
"But the move begins much earlier."
"I'll always be grateful to my teammates for that."
Another question followed.
"Many people expected a much tighter contest, yet Arsenal controlled long periods of the match through possession and tactical discipline. How pleased are you with the way your team executed Arsène Wenger's game plan?"
Francesco nodded.
"Very pleased."
"The manager prepared us brilliantly."
"We knew Roma would be aggressive."
"We knew they would fight for every ball."
"Our job was to stay patient."
"Not rush."
"Keep moving."
"And trust each other."
"I think we did that well tonight."
The presenter glanced down at his notes before asking the question everyone expected.
"A five-goal advantage."
"Many supporters watching across Europe will already believe Arsenal have reached the Champions League Final."
He paused.
"Is the tie over?"
Francesco answered almost immediately.
"No."
The response surprised nobody who knew him.
"No."
He repeated it calmly.
"This is a semi-final."
"Roma didn't reach this stage by accident."
"They're an excellent football team."
"They'll have their supporters behind them in Rome."
"We know exactly how difficult that stadium can be."
He looked directly into the nearest television camera.
"If we go there thinking this tie is finished…"
"…then we'll create problems for ourselves."
"So we won't think like that."
"We'll prepare exactly as we prepared for tonight."
"With respect."
"With concentration."
"And with complete professionalism."
"That's the only way to approach football at this level."
The presenter smiled.
"I had a feeling that would be your answer."
Francesco laughed softly.
"It was probably predictable."
"It was."
The presenter turned toward someone standing just off-camera.
"Before we let you go, Francesco, UEFA has one more surprise."
A UEFA official stepped forward carrying a black presentation case.
Inside rested the official Player of the Match trophy.
The presenter lifted it carefully.
"Following your two goals, your leadership as captain and your influence throughout tonight's performance, UEFA's Technical Observer Panel has selected you as the UEFA Champions League Player of the Match."
"Congratulations."
Applause broke out around the interview area.
Camera operators clapped.
Production assistants smiled.
Several technicians offered quiet congratulations while the official handed him the crystal trophy.
Francesco accepted it with both hands.
"Thank you very much."
"It's an honour."
"But this belongs to the whole team."
"I'll probably remind them of that."
The presenter laughed.
"I have a feeling they'll remind you who scored the goals."
"Probably."
One final photograph was taken beneath the Champions League branding.
Flashbulbs fired repeatedly.
After another round of handshakes, Francesco thanked every member of the production crew individually.
"Thanks."
"Have a good night."
"You too."
Only then did he leave the interview area, trophy tucked carefully beneath one arm.
The Arsenal dressing room felt completely different from the intensity that had existed before kick-off.
Music played quietly through the speakers.
Recovery drinks had already appeared beside nearly every locker.
Physiotherapists moved efficiently between players, beginning treatment while the match remained fresh in their legs.
Walker spotted Francesco first.
"There he is."
Robertson looked at the trophy.
"I knew it."
"What?"
"You took too long because you were collecting souvenirs."
Laughter spread around the room.
Francesco placed the trophy carefully on a nearby table.
"It'll stay here."
Giroud immediately pointed at it.
"I'm borrowing that for a picture."
"You'll give it back."
"No promises."
Even Wenger, passing behind them, smiled briefly before continuing toward his office.
Francesco finally headed for the showers.
Hot water washed away ninety exhausting minutes.
The physical fatigue remained.
The tension did not.
By the time he returned, dressed in Arsenal's dark travel jumpsuit, much of the squad had already changed.
Čech sat quietly reviewing statistics on his tablet.
Kanté was eating fruit while chatting softly with Cazorla.
Gnabry continued replaying Robertson's assist on someone's phone.
"You made that finish look easy," Robertson said.
Gnabry shook his head.
"Because your pass was perfect."
Walker looked across.
"Can somebody compliment me as well?"
Van Dijk didn't even look up.
"You defended well."
Walker frowned dramatically.
"That's all?"
"You also complained less than usual."
The room burst into laughter.
"Hopeless," Walker muttered.
"Absolutely hopeless."
A few minutes later Wenger stepped back into the dressing room.
"Francesco."
The captain looked up.
"Yes, boss?"
"The press conference."
"I'll need you."
"Of course."
Francesco grabbed a bottle of water before following Wenger through another series of corridors beneath the Emirates.
The media auditorium was already full.
Television cameras lined the rear wall.
Journalists from England, Italy, Spain, Germany and France filled every seat.
As Wenger and Francesco entered together, dozens of camera shutters clicked simultaneously.
They took their places behind the long UEFA desk.
The moderator opened proceedings.
"Questions, please."
A British journalist stood first.
"Arsène, was that the complete performance?"
Wenger folded his hands together.
"It was a very good performance."
"Our players showed maturity."
"They respected Roma."
"They remained disciplined."
"And they were clinical when opportunities appeared."
"But complete?"
He smiled slightly.
"A complete performance would also finish the tie."
"We have not done that."
"There is another match."
An Italian reporter directed the next question toward Francesco.
"You scored twice tonight."
"Does a five goal lead allow Arsenal to play with less pressure in Rome?"
Francesco shook his head.
"No."
"If anything, it increases our responsibility."
"People may expect us to relax."
"We cannot."
"We have to approach the second leg exactly as seriously."
"Roma are too good to underestimate."
Another journalist followed.
"The Emirates atmosphere tonight seemed extraordinary."
Francesco smiled.
"It really was."
"From the moment we arrived on the coach until the final whistle."
"You could feel the supporters pushing us."
"When we were pressing."
"When we defended."
"When we attacked."
"They gave us energy."
Wenger nodded in agreement.
"They created one of the finest European atmospheres I have experienced here."
Questions continued for another fifteen minutes.
About tactical preparation.
About Kanté's midfield performance.
About Van Dijk's defending.
About Robertson's attacking contribution.
About Alexis.
About the substitutions.
Every answer returned to the same theme.
Respect.
Discipline.
The second leg.
Eventually the moderator thanked everyone.
The press conference ended.
Outside, Arsenal's team coach waited beneath the floodlights.
Most of the squad had already boarded.
Walker spotted them through the window.
"Finally!"
He pointed dramatically at Wenger.
"We were beginning to think you'd accepted another interview."
Wenger smiled.
"I considered it."
Walker groaned.
"I knew it."
Francesco climbed aboard.
"Sorry."
Robertson shrugged.
"As long as you brought the trophy."
"It's in the luggage compartment."
Giroud looked horrified.
"You left it alone?"
"It'll survive."
"It deserves first-class treatment."
Laughter filled the coach as it finally pulled away from the Emirates.
Outside, North London was gradually becoming quieter.
Supporters still walked through the streets singing Arsenal songs.
Car horns sounded occasionally.
Scarves still hung proudly from open windows.
The excitement would continue long into the night.
Inside the coach, however, exhaustion slowly reclaimed everyone.
Conversation faded.
Several players leaned back with their eyes closed.
Others quietly replayed moments from the match on tablets provided by the analysis staff.
Within half an hour, London Colney appeared ahead.
The coach rolled through the gates before stopping outside the main building.
Players collected their bags one by one.
There were no long speeches.
Only simple farewells.
"See you tomorrow."
"Recover well."
"Drive safely."
Walker climbed into his car.
"Rome next."
Francesco nodded.
"Rome next."
Then the drive home felt peaceful.
Traffic had almost disappeared.
Streetlights reflected across the windscreen as London gradually settled into silence.
The Player of the Match trophy rested securely on the passenger seat.
For most of the journey, Francesco simply drove.
No radio.
No music.
Only the quiet hum of the engine.
When he finally turned into the driveway of his mansion in Richmond, one upstairs light was still glowing.
He smiled.
Leah was awake.
Before he reached the front door, it opened.
"There you are."
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.
"Congratulations."
He returned the embrace.
"Thank you."
"You watched?"
"Every minute."
She noticed the trophy tucked beneath his arm.
"And… I suppose that's not something they hand out every week."
He laughed.
"No."
Cheddar came racing across the hallway, paws skidding slightly across the wooden floor before stopping at Francesco's feet, tail wagging furiously.
"There he is," Francesco said, crouching to scratch behind the corgi's ears.
"I think he celebrated every goal," Leah said with a grin.
"He barked at the television every time the crowd got loud."
"I'll take that as support."
She gently took his hand.
"Come on."
"I kept dinner warm."
The kitchen smelled wonderful.
A freshly cooked meal waited on the table.
Grilled salmon.
Roasted potatoes.
Steamed vegetables.
Fresh bread.
Nothing extravagant.
Just warm, homemade food after a demanding night.
Francesco set the trophy on a nearby shelf before taking his seat.
Leah placed a plate in front of him.
"You must be starving."
"I am."
For a while, neither of them spoke very much.
There was no need.
The silence felt comfortable.
Peaceful.
A complete contrast to the deafening roar of the Emirates only a short time earlier.
Eventually Leah smiled across the table.
"You know…"
"Hm?"
"Five goals is a pretty good night's work."
Francesco smiled back.
"It was."
Then, after a brief pause, he glanced almost instinctively toward the trophy resting quietly on the shelf.
"It was only the first leg."
Leah nodded knowingly.
"Rome."
"Rome," he repeated.
The greatest nights in Europe were never remembered for the first ninety minutes alone.
Then the following morning arrived with a welcome sense of calm.
The Player of the Match trophy remained on a shelf in the living room, catching the early morning sunlight, but it was already beginning to blend into the background of daily life.
Cheddar lay asleep nearby, entirely uninterested in European football.
Leah smiled as she noticed Francesco glance briefly toward the trophy before picking up his coffee.
"You've looked at it three times."
"I have not."
"You have."
"I was looking past it."
She laughed.
"You footballers are terrible liars."
He raised both hands in surrender.
"Alright."
"Maybe I looked once."
She smiled knowingly.
"It was a good night."
"It was."
Neither of them needed to mention what came next.
Rome still waited.
But before Rome came something equally important.
Wembley.
Football never stood still.
Within a couple of days, the noise surrounding Arsenal's Champions League triumph gradually gave way to a different conversation.
Every newspaper still carried photographs from the Roma match.
Television pundits continued debating whether Arsenal had produced the finest European performance of Wenger's reign.
Supporters discussed potential opponents in the final.
Inside London Colney, however, none of those conversations lasted very long.
The fixture board had already changed.
The Champions League graphics had disappeared from the analysis room.
In their place stood another familiar competition.
FA Cup Semi-final.
Wembley Stadium.
Southampton.
The shift happened almost automatically.
Recovery became preparation.
Preparation became routine.
Routine became focus.
Monday morning began exactly as Wenger preferred.
Quietly.
Players arrived in small groups beneath clear spring skies.
Some carried coffee.
Others greeted members of staff before disappearing into the medical department for routine assessments.
Physiotherapists checked muscle soreness.
Fitness coaches reviewed GPS data collected during the Roma match.
Medical reports covered every player who had featured heavily over recent weeks.
The coaching staff gathered around a large monitor inside one of the performance rooms.
Shad Forsythe scrolled through the workload statistics.
"Most of the starters are exactly where we'd hoped."
Steve Bould folded his arms.
"Any concerns?"
"Nothing significant."
He pointed toward several names.
"Just accumulated fatigue."
"Perfectly normal after this schedule."
Wenger listened quietly.
He studied the figures before finally nodding.
"They recover."
"They've earned it."
Nobody questioned what he meant.
Arsenal were entering the defining weeks of their season.
Every decision mattered.
Later that morning, the squad assembled in the main meeting room.
The atmosphere remained relaxed.
Walker wandered in carrying two bananas.
Robertson immediately looked at him.
"Planning to feed the whole squad?"
Walker looked down.
"I got hungry."
"You got greedy."
"I prefer prepared."
Laughter drifted around the room.
Wenger waited until everyone had settled before speaking.
"Our priorities this week are clear."
He allowed his eyes to move across the room.
"We have earned a place in the FA Cup semi-final."
His voice remained calm.
"And I believe the players who brought us here deserve the opportunity to finish what they started."
Several faces immediately understood what that meant.
David Raya looked across at Bellerín.
Giroud exchanged a glance with Ramsey.
Saka sat a little straighter in his chair.
Wenger continued.
"The group that has carried our FA Cup campaign will prepare as the starting team."
He smiled slightly.
"They've earned that trust."
No complaints came from the usual Premier League starters.
Quite the opposite.
Francesco began clapping first.
The applause quickly spread throughout the room.
Giroud smiled appreciatively.
"So," Walker called from the back, "does this mean I finally get to relax?"
Robertson answered before Wenger could.
"No."
"You'll probably run anyway."
The room laughed again.
Training naturally split into two distinct groups.
On the main pitch, Steve Bould took charge of the players expected to start at Wembley.
David Raya organised his defensive line behind Héctor Bellerín, Shkodran Mustafi, Rob Holding and Nacho Monreal.
Ahead of them, Aaron Ramsey, Jack Wilshere and Santi Cazorla rotated constantly through midfield exercises.
Alex Iwobi drifted intelligently between the lines.
Bukayo Saka attacked every opportunity with youthful enthusiasm.
Olivier Giroud occupied the penalty area exactly as only he could.
Cross after cross arrived.
Movement repeated.
Angles adjusted.
Again.
And again.
Bould rarely needed to raise his voice.
"Faster."
"Reset."
"One more."
The patterns became smoother with every repetition.
Giroud peeled away toward the back post before powering another header beyond Raya.
"Better," Bould called.
"But attack the cross earlier."
Giroud nodded immediately.
"Again."
Nearby, Saka received possession from Cazorla before driving directly at Bellerín.
The Spanish full-back timed his tackle perfectly.
"Nearly," he smiled.
"You'll get me next time."
Saka grinned.
"I will."
On the adjacent pitch, the regular starters followed a completely different programme.
There was no full-intensity tactical work.
That had been planned deliberately.
Instead, recovery remained the priority.
Fitness coaches supervised light jogging around the training complex before leading flexibility sessions.
Inside the gym, Kanté completed controlled strength work.
Van Dijk focused on mobility exercises.
Walker reluctantly admitted that stretching might actually be useful.
"I'll deny saying that later."
The physiotherapist laughed.
"We've already written it down."
Outside again, Francesco joined Alexis, Özil and Xhaka for technical drills.
Nothing explosive.
Just crisp passing.
First touches.
Quick combinations inside tight spaces.
Occasionally Wenger watched quietly from the touchline.
Not correcting.
Simply observing.
Fresh legs would become priceless over the coming weeks.
Although training groups had been separated, nobody treated them like separate teams.
Quite the opposite.
Whenever one session paused for water, players naturally wandered across to watch the other.
Francesco leaned against the barrier as Saka curled an effort narrowly over the crossbar.
"Unlucky."
The teenager looked over.
"I opened my foot too early."
"You knew immediately."
Saka nodded.
"I felt it."
Francesco smiled.
"Good."
"The best forwards know before anyone else."
"Take exactly the same shot again."
"Don't change your decision."
"Just improve the execution."
Saka absorbed every word.
"I will."
Nearby, Giroud finished another crossing routine before walking across to collect a drink.
Walker greeted him immediately.
"So…"
Giroud raised an eyebrow.
"So?"
"Score a hat-trick for us."
The Frenchman laughed.
"You say that as though it's simple."
"It is."
Walker shrugged dramatically.
"Just head everything in."
Giroud looked toward Robertson.
"Is he always like this?"
Robertson sighed.
"Unfortunately."
Later in the afternoon, both groups gathered for tactical analysis.
The large screen displayed Southampton's recent matches.
Set-piece routines.
Defensive shape.
Pressing triggers.
Attacking transitions.
Even players unlikely to start remained fully engaged.
Questions flowed naturally.
"What happens if they switch to a back three?"
"Who tracks the second runner?"
"When does their midfield press?"
Steve Bould paused the footage repeatedly.
Ramsey answered one question himself before Wenger added another observation.
Francesco sat beside Giroud.
"You'll enjoy this one."
Giroud smiled.
"They leave space for crosses."
"They do."
"And Santi always finds them."
The French striker's grin widened.
"I've noticed."
The following day brought another productive session.
This time the emphasis shifted toward dead-ball situations.
Corners.
Wide free-kicks.
Defensive organisation.
Attacking movement.
Cazorla's deliveries repeatedly found dangerous areas.
Holding attacked one cross powerfully enough to shake the crossbar.
Mustafi celebrated as though it had counted.
"It was in."
"It hit the bar."
"It crossed in my imagination."
Even Wenger couldn't suppress a smile.
Across the field, the recovery group completed finishing drills purely for rhythm.
Alexis and Francesco challenged one another to strike the crossbar from the edge of the penalty area.
Loser collected the footballs.
Alexis hit first.
Metal rang loudly.
Francesco missed by inches.
Walker folded his arms.
"I believe we have a winner."
Francesco sighed dramatically.
"I dislike this game."
"You dislike losing."
"That too."
He gathered every football while Alexis applauded sarcastically.
As the week progressed, confidence quietly grew around the training ground.
Not because anyone underestimated Southampton.
Quite the opposite.
Everyone respected the challenge waiting at Wembley.
Southampton had earned their own place in the semi-final.
Arsenal would have to earn theirs in the final.
That understanding sharpened every session.
Every sprint.
Every tactical discussion.
The players expected to start looked increasingly cohesive.
The players being rested remained completely invested, offering encouragement, observations and applause throughout.
There was never a sense of disappointment from those left out.
Only trust.
Only collective purpose.
One afternoon, as the final training exercise came to an end, Wenger gathered everyone together in a circle at the centre of the pitch.
He looked from one group to the other.
"I've said many times that trophies are never won by eleven players."
He gestured around the squad.
"They're won by everyone."
"The players who start."
"The players who finish."
"The players who prepare the others."
"The staff."
"Everyone."
His eyes rested briefly on Giroud.
Then Francesco.
Then Raya.
"The unity we've shown this season…"
"…keep it."
"It's one of our greatest strengths."
Nobody needed a louder speech than that.
Walker clapped first.
Soon the rest of the squad followed.
The afternoon gradually drew to a close.
Training bibs were collected.
Footballs rolled back into storage nets.
Groundskeepers prepared the pitches for the following morning.
Players wandered back toward the changing rooms in small groups, conversations shifting effortlessly from football to ordinary life.
Robertson and Bellerín debated whose music playlist was worse.
Ramsey insisted his goal in training had definitely crossed the line.
Holding refused to agree.
Francesco paused outside the building, watching the Wembley tactical board being wheeled back into the analysis room after another productive day.
The Champions League could wait a little longer.
Rome would come soon enough.
For now, every thought belonged to one stadium.
One match.
One more opportunity to move a step closer to lifting another trophy.
As the players climbed into their cars and gradually left London Colney behind, the training ground settled into its familiar evening silence.
______________________________________________
Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 19 (2017)
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, 2016/2017 Champions League, and 2017/2018 Carabao Cup.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 52
Goal: 66
Assist: 6
MOTM: 6
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 4
Goal: 4
Assist: 1
MOTM: 2
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