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...
The new season had begun, and Arsenal intended to make history all over again.
Then the next day, the house was quiet when Francesco finally woke.
For several seconds, he had no idea what time it was.
He lay still beneath the covers, staring vaguely toward the ceiling as his mind slowly worked its way through the fog of sleep. His body felt heavy in the particular way it did after a match that had demanded everything from him. His legs were tired, his shoulders ached slightly, and there was a dull soreness running through his muscles.
Then the memories returned.
Wembley.
Manchester City.
The goal.
Xhaka's unbelievable strike.
Alexis finishing the third.
The trophy.
The celebrations afterward.
Francesco closed his eyes again.
He was exhausted.
But he smiled.
Last night had been worth it.
The celebrations with the Arsenal players had continued long after the presentation. There had been photographs, laughter, conversations in the dressing room and on the journey home, players replaying moments from the match and teasing one another about missed chances and spectacular goals.
Eventually, Francesco had arrived back at the mansion late.
Far later than his normal bedtime.
And now his body was making sure he knew it.
He turned his head toward the clock.
His eyes widened slightly.
"Wow."
He had slept much longer than usual.
For once, he didn't feel guilty about it.
There was no training session waiting for him that morning.
No alarm.
No rush to London Colney.
The squad had been given the day off.
Francesco slowly pushed himself upright and sat on the edge of the bed.
He rubbed his face.
"Okay."
His voice was still rough with sleep.
He stood, stretched carefully, and made his way toward the bathroom before eventually pulling on a comfortable T-shirt and shorts.
As he walked downstairs, he expected the house to still be asleep.
Instead, he smelled breakfast.
Francesco paused halfway down the stairs.
He followed the smell into the kitchen.
Leah was nowhere to be seen.
But breakfast had already been prepared.
Eggs.
Toast.
Fresh fruit.
Yogurt.
A cup of coffee waiting beside the plate.
And beside it was a small handwritten note.
Francesco picked it up.
He read it once.
Then again.
Good morning sleepy head ❤️ don't forget to eat breakfast
A quiet smile spread across his face.
He shook his head.
"Sleepy head?"
He looked around the kitchen.
"Very funny."
There was no answer.
Leah had apparently decided that the note could speak for her.
Francesco sat down.
For the first time since waking, he allowed himself to simply enjoy the morning.
No football.
No reporters.
No cameras.
No tactical discussions.
Just breakfast in his own kitchen.
He took a sip of coffee and leaned back slightly.
The quiet felt strange after Wembley.
Yesterday, every moment had been surrounded by noise.
Today, he could hear the faint hum of the house.
He ate slowly, appreciating the food more than he normally would.
When he finished, he carried the plate toward the kitchen.
He had barely taken two steps when he heard claws tapping against the floor.
Francesco turned.
Cheddar came around the corner at full speed.
The corgi stopped when he saw Francesco.
His ears lifted.
His tail began moving.
Then he charged.
"Oh, here we go."
Cheddar immediately ran around Francesco's legs.
Francesco laughed.
"Good morning to you too."
The dog looked up at him.
Francesco crouched.
"You weren't at Wembley, were you?"
Cheddar tilted his head.
"No. Exactly."
The corgi suddenly grabbed one of his toys and ran away.
Francesco stared after him.
"Seriously?"
Cheddar dropped the toy several feet away and looked back.
Francesco understood.
"Oh, you want to play."
Cheddar's tail began wagging harder.
"Fine."
A few minutes later, the quiet morning had become considerably less quiet.
Francesco chased Cheddar through the living room.
The corgi darted around the furniture, turned sharply and sprinted in the opposite direction.
"Come back here!"
Cheddar ignored him.
Francesco laughed as he followed.
"You're supposed to be tired too!"
Cheddar clearly disagreed.
Eventually Francesco managed to catch him.
He scooped the dog up and held him against his chest.
Cheddar wriggled.
"Stop."
The dog continued struggling.
"Cheddar."
Another wriggle.
Francesco laughed.
"You're impossible."
He put him back down.
Cheddar immediately ran for the toy again.
Francesco watched him go.
For once, there was nowhere he needed to be.
That thought alone made the morning feel different.
Eventually he settled onto the sofa, Cheddar lying nearby with his toy between his paws.
Francesco reached for the remote and switched on the television.
The first sports channel appeared.
He barely had time to react before Wembley filled the screen.
Arsenal.
Manchester City.
3–1.
Francesco leaned back.
The broadcast showed the opening goal again.
Kanté winning possession.
Özil receiving.
The perfectly timed movement.
Francesco's run.
The finish.
The replay came from another angle.
Then another.
Francesco watched himself score and shook his head slightly.
It already looked different from the television.
Less emotional.
More technical.
He could see exactly where Stones had moved.
Where Otamendi had hesitated.
Where Özil had waited.
The pundit was speaking over the replay.
"Arsenal have done it again."
The screen switched to Xhaka's goal.
The strike flew toward the top corner.
The pundit laughed.
"And this one may be replayed all morning."
Francesco smiled.
"That one definitely will."
Cheddar looked up at the television.
Francesco glanced at him.
"You agree?"
Cheddar stared blankly.
"Right."
The highlights continued.
Alexis's finish.
Saka's assist.
The celebration.
The trophy.
Then the conversation moved away from the match itself.
The pundits began talking about the season ahead.
One of them leaned forward.
"Let's be honest. Arsenal remain the team everyone has to beat."
Another nodded.
"They've won the Premier League three years in a row. Then they went and completed an unprecedented quadruple last season. At this point, you're not just talking about a very good Arsenal side. You're talking about a team that has dominated English and European football."
Francesco's smile faded slightly.
He listened.
The presenter continued.
"And yesterday's victory over Manchester City only adds to the feeling that nothing has really changed."
A graphic appeared on the screen.
ARSENAL: THE TEAM TO BEAT?
Another pundit answered.
"I think they are. And perhaps the biggest reason isn't even what they've added. It's what they haven't lost."
Francesco looked at the television.
The analyst continued.
"Arsenal haven't dismantled their squad after their success. They haven't sold their key starters. They haven't suddenly decided that because they've won everything, it's time to rebuild. Wenger has kept the core intact."
The other pundit nodded.
"Exactly. The important players remain. The experienced players remain. The rotation options remain. They've only really moved on players who were no longer wanted or no longer part of Wenger's plans."
"Which means the chemistry remains."
"The understanding remains."
"The depth remains."
Francesco leaned forward slightly.
He knew that was true.
The team had spent years developing that understanding.
Kanté knew when to step forward.
Özil knew where Francesco would run.
Alexis understood when to drift.
Van Dijk and Koscielny communicated almost instinctively.
There were combinations that didn't need explanation anymore.
The television discussion continued.
"And that is what makes them dangerous," one analyst said. "They're not starting from zero. They're starting from the top."
The other man wasn't entirely convinced.
"Or perhaps that's exactly where the problem begins."
The first analyst looked at him.
"How?"
"Because how much more hunger can you realistically demand from a group that has already won almost everything?"
Francesco stopped eating the last piece of fruit he'd taken from breakfast.
The question stayed with him.
The analyst continued.
"They've won three consecutive league titles. They've completed a quadruple. They've lifted major European trophies. They've now started another campaign with silverware. At some point, somebody has to ask whether the players can reproduce that desperation."
The first pundit shook his head.
"I don't buy that. Elite players don't suddenly stop wanting to win."
"Not suddenly. Gradually."
The studio became quieter.
"That's the danger," the second analyst continued. "Complacency doesn't arrive wearing a sign saying, 'I've stopped caring.' It arrives in small ways. One less sprint. One training session where the standards aren't quite as high. One player thinking someone else will cover him. One negotiation where a player starts wondering whether he's being paid what he's worth."
Francesco's eyes remained fixed on the screen.
That last point caught him.
Contracts.
Salaries.
Status.
The pundit wasn't accusing Arsenal players of being selfish.
He was talking about something more complicated.
Success changed people.
It changed expectations.
A player who had won the Premier League three times and helped deliver a quadruple wasn't going to think about his career in exactly the same way anymore.
Players would look around.
They would see what others were earning.
They would think about their value.
Their future.
Their families.
Their status within the club.
Francesco understood that.
It didn't mean they had become greedy.
It meant they were human.
The presenter moved on.
"Let's talk about the challengers, then. Manchester City obviously remain one of them."
The screen showed Guardiola.
Then the City players.
"They've lost the Community Shield, but nobody is going to write them off because of one match."
"Absolutely not."
"Liverpool will also believe they can challenge."
"And then you've got the rest of the league waiting for Arsenal to slip."
The first analyst smiled.
"That's the thing. Everyone will be waiting."
Francesco sat back.
The second analyst nodded.
"Manchester City, Liverpool, Chelsea, everyone. Arsenal are no longer simply a team trying to win. They're the benchmark. Every opponent will raise their level against them."
The presenter asked the question that had been building throughout the discussion.
"So what's Arsenal's biggest threat?"
The answer came almost immediately.
"Arsenal themselves."
Francesco looked up.
The pundit continued.
"If they maintain their standards, I don't see many teams stopping them. But if they become comfortable because of what they've already achieved, then suddenly the gap closes."
Another analyst disagreed.
"I think you're overthinking it. Look at their players. They still celebrate every goal. They still compete in training. They still hate losing."
"That's true now."
"And you think that changes?"
"I think that's what Wenger has to prevent."
Francesco looked toward Cheddar.
The dog was asleep now.
Completely unconcerned.
His head rested on the edge of the cushion, paws stretched forward.
Francesco smiled faintly.
The house was peaceful.
Almost absurdly peaceful.
Only hours earlier, he'd been standing beneath Wembley lights with thousands of people screaming around him.
Now he was sitting barefoot on his sofa, watching television while his dog slept beside him.
The contrast made the conversation feel even stranger.
He looked back at the screen.
The pundits were still talking.
Francesco didn't know whether he agreed with them.
He didn't believe his teammates had suddenly lost their hunger.
Not at all.
He knew them too well.
He had seen Kanté train until he could barely stand.
He had watched Alexis demand more from himself after scoring twice.
He had seen Van Dijk furious after conceding goals in training.
He had watched Özil stay behind to repeat passing drills.
He had watched Saka chase every ball as though it mattered.
But hunger wasn't simply about wanting to win.
It was about continuing to sacrifice when winning had become expected.
That was different.
Last season, Arsenal had chased history.
Now history had already been made.
The question was whether that would make them hungrier or more comfortable.
Francesco looked down at his hands.
Then another thought occurred to him.
Maybe the pressure wouldn't only come from the players' mentality.
Success created financial expectations too.
A player who had performed at the highest level might reasonably expect a better contract.
Higher wages.
More responsibility.
A stronger position within the club.
Those conversations could become difficult.
Not because the players were ungrateful.
Because they knew their worth.
Francesco understood that Wenger and the club would have to manage those expectations carefully.
The squad was strong because it remained together.
Keeping everyone together meant making everyone feel valued.
That could become just as important as tactics.
He looked toward the television again.
The discussion had returned to Manchester City.
"Guardiola will learn from yesterday."
"Liverpool will be watching."
"The rest of the league will be waiting."
The names continued.
One challenger after another.
But Francesco barely heard them now.
He thought about London Colney.
About the first training session of the week.
Would everyone arrive with the same attitude?
Would the intensity remain?
Would someone think, even subconsciously, that they had earned the right to relax?
Would the senior players continue pushing the younger ones?
Would the younger players still feel they had something to prove?
Would everyone accept another season of sacrifice?
He couldn't know.
Not yet.
Yesterday had proved that Arsenal could still win.
It had shown that the quality remained.
The Community Shield was another trophy in the cabinet.
But it hadn't answered the bigger question.
Francesco reached down and scratched Cheddar behind the ears.
The corgi opened one eye.
"You've got it easy."
Cheddar closed his eye again.
Francesco smiled.
"Lucky."
He turned his attention back to the television.
The pundits were still debating whether Arsenal could become champions for a fourth consecutive time.
Some were confident.
Others were cautious.
But all of them agreed on one thing.
Arsenal would be the team everyone wanted to defeat.
Francesco sat quietly and listened.
The Community Shield had been a victory.
A good one.
A deserved one.
He would remember lifting that trophy with his teammates.
But as enjoyable as it had been, it was only the opening page.
The Premier League would demand far more.
Europe would demand more.
The cups would demand more.
And every opponent would arrive believing that this might finally be the season Arsenal could be brought back down.
The strange thing was that Arsenal's greatest challenge might not be finding enough quality.
They already had that.
It might not even be finding new players.
Their squad was already deep.
The hardest part could be convincing eleven players, then fifteen, then twenty-five, to wake up every morning and still feel that they had something left to prove.
They had conquered almost everything.
Now they had to prove they could do it again.
Francesco leaned back into the sofa.
The television continued in the background.
Manchester City.
Liverpool.
Chelsea.
The other contenders.
The predictions.
The arguments.
The expectations.
Outside, the morning remained quiet.
Inside, Cheddar slept peacefully beside him.
And Francesco realized that the coming season might be the hardest Arsenal had faced yet.
Not because they were weaker.
Because they were stronger than ever—and everyone now expected them to remain that way.
The Community Shield had started the new campaign with a victory.
But the real test of Arsenal's character was only beginning.
And from this point onward, the question of hunger would follow them everywhere.
Into every training session.
Every contract discussion.
Every difficult away match.
Every moment when tired legs told them they had already done enough.
Last season, they had chased greatness.
This season, they would have to defend it.
Francesco kept watching the television as the began to think.
Could Arsenal still want it as badly as they had before? Only the season ahead would give him the answer.
Then the following morning, London Colney felt familiar again.
The same long drive through the gates.
The same rows of trees bordering the training pitches.
The same white lines freshly painted across the grass, the goal nets hanging perfectly, the equipment staff moving between buildings with crates of footballs and cones.
Yet Francesco noticed something different almost immediately.
It wasn't dramatic.
Nothing had changed enough for anyone walking in from outside to point at it.
The players were still arriving in expensive cars, still greeting one another, still carrying the confidence of a team that had just lifted another trophy.
There was laughter around the entrance.
Someone was playing music from a phone.
Giroud was already joking with Bellerín about something Francesco couldn't quite hear.
Alexis walked past with his headphones on, nodding to a member of staff.
Everything looked normal.
Maybe that was the problem.
Francesco stepped out of his car and glanced across the training ground.
He remembered what it had felt like before the Community Shield.
There had been an edge to everyone.
Not nervousness exactly.
Something sharper.
Players had arrived early.
Boots had been prepared.
Conversations had been shorter.
Every drill had mattered.
Every mistake had been corrected.
They had known Manchester City were waiting.
Now the trophy was already in the cabinet.
And Manchester City were still a few days away.
Francesco walked toward the dressing room.
He didn't say anything.
Not yet.
Inside, the atmosphere was relaxed.
Perhaps too relaxed.
Ramsey was sitting with one leg stretched out while tying his boots, talking to Cazorla. Gnabry was laughing with Saka. Xhaka entered carrying a coffee and immediately complained about someone stealing his seat.
"Morning."
"Morning."
"How are the legs?"
"Better than yours, probably."
Xhaka looked toward Francesco.
"Don't start."
Francesco smiled.
"Just asking."
A few minutes later, Wenger entered.
He greeted the players calmly and gave them a few minutes to finish preparing.
There was no long speech.
No reminder about the Community Shield.
No dramatic reference to Manchester City.
Eventually the squad walked outside.
The first signs appeared during the warm-up.
Nothing serious.
A few players jogged through the opening movements without much urgency. One pass went slightly behind Bellerín, who laughed and jogged after it rather than reacting with the irritation Francesco remembered from the previous season.
Another ball was misplaced.
There was laughter.
Francesco watched.
He said nothing.
The next exercise involved possession in a tight area.
The tempo should have been quick.
Instead, it was comfortable.
A player received the ball, took an extra touch, and was immediately closed down.
Normally, the pressure would have produced a sharp reaction.
Instead, he smiled and played the ball sideways.
"Again," Wenger called.
They reset.
The same thing happened.
Francesco's eyes moved around the group.
Kanté was still moving constantly, as he always did, but even he seemed slightly less urgent.
Özil was technically perfect, yet there were moments when his concentration drifted.
Alexis challenged hard once, then eased off the next time.
Van Dijk noticed it too.
Francesco could tell from the way the defender looked around after one careless pass.
Koscielny muttered something under his breath.
Xhaka was more vocal.
"Come on."
But even his frustration faded quickly.
Nobody was deliberately slacking.
Nobody was refusing to work.
Nobody had decided that they were finished.
It was subtler than that.
The edge was missing.
Francesco thought about the television conversation from yesterday.
Arsenal themselves.
He had dismissed the phrase when he'd first heard it.
Now it was becoming harder to ignore.
Wenger stopped the drill.
"Reset."
The players gathered their balls.
Wenger watched them for several seconds.
"Quicker reactions," he said calmly. "The ball moves faster than you."
They began again.
For a few minutes, the tempo improved.
Then it slipped.
A pass went loose.
Someone laughed.
Wenger's expression barely changed.
Francesco felt something tighten in his chest.
He knew these players.
He knew what they were capable of.
He had seen them train when every possession felt like a final.
He had seen them chase lost causes in the seventy-ninth minute of exhausting matches because nobody wanted to be the player who stopped running.
This wasn't that.
During the next break, Francesco found Wenger near the edge of the pitch.
The manager was watching the players quietly.
"You see it?" Francesco asked.
Wenger didn't look at him.
"Yes."
Francesco exhaled.
"I wasn't sure if I was imagining it."
"You are not."
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Across the pitch, Giroud was talking to Mustafi while Saka bounced a ball between his feet.
Wenger finally turned.
"Last season, they were afraid of losing something."
Francesco looked at him.
"Now?"
"They have already won it."
That sentence stayed between them.
Wenger folded his arms.
"That is the difficult part. When you have spent a season climbing, every step has meaning. When you reach the top, there is a temptation to believe the mountain will remain beneath your feet."
Francesco nodded slowly.
"So how do we fix it?"
Wenger gave a small smile.
"You cannot order someone to be hungry."
"I know."
"You cannot tell a player, 'Care more,' and expect his heart to change."
Francesco looked back toward the squad.
"I feel responsible."
"You are captain."
"Exactly."
"Being captain does not mean carrying everyone's mentality for them."
Francesco frowned slightly.
"But I can remind them."
"Yes."
Wenger paused.
"And I can create situations where they have to rediscover it."
Francesco understood immediately.
"No speech."
"No speech."
"Make them compete."
"Exactly."
They returned to the group.
Wenger blew his whistle.
"Bring the goals in."
The staff immediately began setting up a small-sided pitch.
The players gathered around.
Wenger explained the exercise simply.
Two teams.
Limited touches.
A goal counted only if the move began with a regain in the attacking half.
If a team lost possession, they had five seconds to win it back.
If they failed, the other team could attack immediately.
There would be no standing around.
No waiting.
No comfortable possession.
"Losers," Wenger added, "will complete an additional finishing circuit."
Giroud raised an eyebrow.
"How many?"
"Enough."
Laughter followed.
But this time it sounded different.
There was an edge underneath it.
Teams were divided.
Francesco took his position.
The whistle went.
The first challenge came hard.
Kanté won the ball.
Francesco immediately moved.
"Here!"
The pass came.
He took one touch and released it.
"Again!"
Saka was already sprinting into space.
Francesco followed.
The ball was lost.
"Five!"
He turned and sprinted.
"Four!"
Alexis pressed beside him.
"Three!"
Ramsey stepped across.
The opposition player panicked and played backward.
Van Dijk intercepted.
"Good!" Francesco shouted.
This time, nobody laughed.
The attack continued.
A minute later, Özil misplaced a pass.
Francesco turned toward him.
"Mesut, move after you play it."
Özil nodded.
"Yes."
The next time Özil received the ball, he passed and immediately shifted into another pocket.
Francesco found him.
The move opened.
Özil's return pass split the defenders.
Francesco finished first time.
"That's it!"
He pointed toward Özil.
"Again."
Özil smiled.
"Again."
The tempo rose.
Challenges became sharper.
Bellerín flew into a recovery sprint and managed to reach the ball before Alexis.
"Yes!" he shouted.
Alexis laughed.
"You're lucky."
"Skill."
"Luck."
"Skill."
Nearby, Giroud was battling Van Dijk for a cross.
The Dutchman won the first duel.
Giroud shook his head.
"Again."
The second time, Giroud timed his movement perfectly and headed the ball down.
"Better," Van Dijk admitted.
"Much better."
Koscielny was shouting constantly from behind them.
"Stay compact!"
"Don't leave the middle!"
Xhaka began demanding quicker circulation.
"One touch! Move it!"
Cazorla was suddenly everywhere, receiving under pressure and escaping with that calm balance that made difficult football look simple.
Even the players who had initially seemed irritated by the intensity began responding.
Gnabry lost possession and immediately chased the player who had taken it.
He won it back.
"Good!" Francesco called.
Gnabry looked toward him.
"That's what you want?"
"Exactly."
Saka was beginning to smile again.
Not the relaxed smile from earlier.
This was the smile of a player enjoying competition.
The next drill was built around transitions.
Wenger deliberately gave the attacking side numerical superiority.
The instruction was simple: score within ten seconds of winning the ball.
If the first attack failed, the defending group could counter immediately.
Manchester City was suddenly everywhere in Wenger's explanations.
"Imagine Guardiola's team here," he said.
The players listened.
"You lose the ball against City, they will punish you."
The next sequence began.
Kanté intercepted.
Francesco demanded the ball.
He received it with a defender closing.
One touch.
Second touch.
He accelerated.
Saka raced down the right.
Francesco could have passed.
Instead, he carried the ball another few metres, drawing the defender toward him before releasing Saka.
The youngster crossed first time.
Giroud attacked the near post.
Goal.
Giroud turned immediately.
"That's the speed."
Francesco nodded.
"Exactly."
Wenger blew the whistle.
"Reset."
The next attempt was slower.
A player hesitated.
Wenger stopped everything.
"Why?"
Silence.
"You waited."
The player nodded.
"Yes."
"Against City, you wait and the opportunity is gone."
Wenger pointed toward the pitch.
"Again."
They repeated it.
This time, the pass came earlier.
The movement followed.
The finish was cleaner.
The session became increasingly demanding.
Finishing under pressure came next.
Defenders were instructed to close attackers immediately after the first touch.
Francesco deliberately made himself available again and again.
He sprinted for loose balls.
Pressed defenders.
Chased rebounds.
Demanded passes.
When he missed, he didn't shrug.
He retrieved the ball and went again.
When Alexis finished a difficult chance, Francesco slapped his shoulder.
"Brilliant."
When Ramsey failed to track a runner, Francesco pointed toward the space.
"Aaron, there."
Ramsey nodded.
"Got it."
Nobody seemed offended.
That mattered.
Francesco wasn't trying to embarrass anyone.
He was demanding the same thing from himself.
Eventually, even the laughter from earlier had changed.
There was still joking.
Still teasing.
Still the occasional smile after a spectacular piece of skill.
But now mistakes were followed by immediate corrections.
Players were talking.
Calling.
Pointing.
Moving.
Competing.
The final small-sided match became the fiercest part of the session.
Koscielny and Van Dijk argued over defensive positioning.
Xhaka demanded the ball.
Kanté chased everything.
Özil produced a pass that made Giroud shake his head in disbelief.
"How do you see that?"
Özil smiled.
"I look."
Giroud laughed.
Francesco pressed the goalkeeper after a poor back pass.
The goalkeeper cleared hurriedly.
Francesco sprinted after the loose ball.
Saka reached it first.
"Finish!"
Saka cut inside and scored.
Francesco punched the air.
"Yes!"
Wenger watched from the touchline.
His expression remained controlled.
But his eyes had changed.
He could see it.
The group was waking up.
The final whistle eventually came.
Players stood breathing heavily, hands on hips.
Sweat darkened shirts.
Nobody complained about the extra work.
Even those who had initially resisted the intensity now looked satisfied.
Wenger called them together.
He didn't give a speech.
He simply looked around.
"That," he said, "is closer."
Nobody spoke.
"Remember something. Manchester City will not care what you won last season."
He let the words settle.
"They will not care about the quadruple. They will not care about three league titles. They will not care about yesterday."
His gaze moved across the squad.
"They will come to the Emirates believing they can beat you."
Francesco looked around at his teammates.
Kanté was still catching his breath.
Özil wiped sweat from his forehead.
Alexis stood with his hands on his hips.
Van Dijk exchanged a glance with Koscielny.
Saka looked exhausted but alert.
Wenger continued.
"So you must give them no reason to believe otherwise."
That was all.
The players began walking back toward the building.
The conversations were different now.
Xhaka was complaining about the extra work.
Giroud told him he deserved it.
Bellerín laughed.
Gnabry challenged Saka to a finishing competition later.
Ramsey was already discussing one of the transition sequences with Cazorla.
Alexis walked past Francesco and gave him a small nod.
"Good session."
Francesco nodded back.
"Yeah."
Van Dijk stopped beside him.
"You were annoying today."
Francesco smiled.
"Good."
"Very annoying."
"Even better."
Van Dijk laughed and continued toward the dressing room.
Francesco remained outside for another moment.
The pitch was quieting.
Balls were being collected.
Cones were being removed.
The morning sun had climbed higher over London Colney.
Wenger stood several metres away, watching the last players disappear inside.
Francesco looked toward him.
The manager gave him a small nod.
Nothing more was needed.
Francesco finally followed the squad.
His legs were tired.
His shirt was soaked.
His lungs still worked hard after the final sprint.
But he felt better than he had when the morning began.
Not because they had suddenly solved everything.
They hadn't.
One intense session could not guarantee another championship.
It couldn't guarantee that every player would wake up hungry every morning.
But something had changed.
They had remembered what competition felt like.
They had remembered that talent wasn't enough.
That reputation couldn't make a tackle.
That trophies couldn't complete a sprint.
That last season's goals couldn't score the next one.
And as Francesco walked back toward the dressing room with the sound of his teammates returning around him, he realized something.
Perhaps hunger didn't disappear all at once.
Perhaps it simply needed to be challenged.
Yesterday, he had wondered whether Arsenal still wanted it badly enough.
Today, for the first time, he had seen a small answer.
Not a complete one.
Not yet.
But enough to matter.
The new Premier League season was waiting.
Manchester City would arrive at the Emirates expecting to test the champions.
And Arsenal would have to prove, from the first minute onward, that being champions had not made them comfortable.
__________________________________________________
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, FA Cup 2016/2017, 2016/2017 Champions League, 2017/2018 Carabao Cup, Premier League 2017/2018, FA Cup 2017/2018, Champions League 2017/2018, 2018 World Cup, and 2018/2019 Community Shield.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 1
Goal: 1
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 0
Goal: 0
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 59
Goal: 76
Assist: 6
MOTM: 7
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 11
Goal: 14
Assist: 1
MOTM: 7
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