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...
And Francesco knew that the next chapter would begin the moment the newest arrival joined them.
Then 30th of August arrived with a different kind of anticipation.
There was no match to prepare for that morning.
No tactical board waiting at London Colney.
No opponent to study.
Instead, Francesco found himself standing at a private terminal with a small Arsenal delegation, a travel bag resting beside him as the group prepared to fly south toward Monaco.
The destination was the Grimaldi Forum.
The occasion was the UEFA Champions League draw.
Francesco glanced around at the familiar faces travelling with him. Mesut Özil stood nearby speaking quietly with one of the coaching staff, while Alexis Sánchez was scrolling through something on his phone. Arsène Wenger had already settled into a calm conversation with members of the club's staff, looking as composed as though they were simply heading to another training session.
But this was different.
Very different.
Last season, Arsenal had conquered Europe.
They had won the Champions League for the third consecutive time.
Now they were returning as defending champions.
Francesco still found that strange to say.
Three consecutive European titles.
Three times Arsenal had reached the final and walked away with the trophy.
And he had been captain through the triumphs.
As they boarded the plane, Alexis dropped into the seat opposite Francesco.
"You nervous?"
Francesco looked at him.
"About a draw?"
Alexis smiled.
"You're thinking about it."
"Maybe."
Özil took the seat beside Francesco.
"What group do you want?"
Francesco shrugged.
"One where we don't have to fly twelve hours every other week."
Alexis laughed.
"That is your priority?"
"I like sleep."
Özil smiled.
"Very professional."
Wenger, passing through the aisle, overheard them.
"Do not worry. UEFA will not design the group for your sleeping schedule."
Alexis leaned toward Francesco.
"See? He has no sympathy."
Wenger continued walking.
"I heard that."
Francesco laughed.
The plane eventually lifted away from England, London disappearing beneath a layer of cloud.
For a while, conversation moved naturally between football and ordinary life.
The staff discussed logistics.
Alexis joked about the ceremony.
Özil wondered aloud which teams might be drawn together.
Francesco mostly listened.
Then, as the aircraft settled into its cruising altitude, Wenger took the seat across from him.
"You remember the feeling of the first draw?"
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
"And now?"
Francesco looked through the window.
"Different."
"How?"
"We're defending it."
Wenger gave a small smile.
"That is the correct answer."
Francesco turned toward him.
"Does winning three times make it easier?"
"No."
Wenger's answer came immediately.
"It makes everyone want to beat you more."
That stayed with Francesco.
The trophy from last season belonged in Arsenal's history now.
It could not help them in September.
It could not score goals.
It could not defend corners.
And it certainly could not guarantee a fourth title.
The plane continued south.
By the time they landed in Monaco, the atmosphere around the delegation had changed subtly.
The Mediterranean sunlight was bright, and the city looked almost impossibly polished against the blue water.
The journey from the airport toward Monaco gave Francesco glimpses of the coastline, buildings climbing the hillsides and streets already carrying the unmistakable presence of European football.
Soon, the Grimaldi Forum came into view.
The venue was elegant and imposing, prepared for one of the most important events on the European football calendar.
Representatives from clubs across the continent were arriving.
Coaches.
Executives.
Players.
Officials.
Journalists.
Everyone had come for the same reason.
To discover who they would face.
Francesco stepped out of the vehicle beside Özil and Alexis.
Camera flashes immediately followed.
Not overwhelming, but enough to remind him that this was no ordinary football event.
A staff member guided the Arsenal delegation inside.
The Grimaldi Forum was already alive with conversation.
Club representatives greeted one another.
Officials moved between rooms.
Photographers positioned themselves around entrances.
The large auditorium had been prepared with rows of seats facing the stage, each section identified by club and delegation.
Arsenal's group took their places.
Francesco sat between Özil and Wenger.
Alexis was nearby.
The coaching staff occupied the surrounding seats.
Francesco looked across the room.
There were familiar faces everywhere.
European champions.
Domestic champions.
Clubs with enormous histories.
Clubs determined to create new ones.
The Champions League had a way of making every team feel important.
And dangerous.
Özil leaned toward him.
"Look at all these teams."
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
"Someone will be very happy with their group."
"Someone will be very unhappy."
Alexis leaned over.
"Hopefully not us."
Francesco smiled.
The ceremony began.
The lights softened.
The conversations stopped.
A presentation celebrating the previous Champions League campaign played across the screens.
Images of famous goals.
Great saves.
Celebrations.
The final.
Then Arsenal appeared.
The footage showed Francesco lifting the trophy.
The sight brought a fresh round of applause through the auditorium.
Francesco watched himself on the enormous screen and felt an odd distance from the moment.
He remembered the weight of the trophy.
The noise.
His teammates around him.
The realization that Arsenal had done something extraordinary.
Three consecutive Champions League titles.
Yet sitting here now, it already felt like history.
The draw began.
One club at a time.
Balls were selected.
Names announced.
Groups slowly took shape.
Some reactions were smiles.
Others were frowns.
A few representatives leaned toward one another immediately, already calculating travel, opponents and tactical challenges.
Francesco watched every selection carefully.
Then the final stages of the draw approached.
Arsenal's name was still waiting.
He shifted slightly in his seat.
Wenger remained completely composed.
"Here we go," Alexis whispered.
The Arsenal ball was selected.
The room watched.
"Arsenal."
There was applause.
The next draw determined their group.
Francesco waited.
The name appeared.
"Lyon."
Özil nodded.
"Good team."
Wenger made a small note.
Another ball.
"Shakhtar Donetsk."
Alexis leaned back.
"Interesting."
Francesco nodded.
Shakhtar had experience in Europe, technical players and enough quality to punish mistakes.
One place remained.
The final selection was announced.
"Hoffenheim."
The screen changed.
GROUP F
Arsenal
Lyon
Shakhtar Donetsk
Hoffenheim
Francesco stared at the group for a moment.
Not easy.
Not impossible.
Exactly what he expected.
Wenger studied the screen.
"Good football teams," he said quietly.
Alexis smiled.
"Could have been worse."
Özil nodded.
"And could have been easier."
Francesco looked toward Wenger.
"What do you think?"
"Every match is different."
Wenger folded his hands.
"Lyon will test us technically. Shakhtar have European experience and can be dangerous when given space. Hoffenheim are organized and energetic."
He paused.
"We prepare properly for each one."
Francesco nodded.
The draw continued until every group was complete.
When it finally ended, the room did not empty immediately.
Instead, attention shifted toward the next ceremony.
The UEFA awards.
Francesco had almost forgotten about them.
Almost.
The stage was prepared again.
The lights changed.
Football officials took their places.
Players and coaches waited.
A presenter began explaining the awards and the performances that had defined European football during the previous season.
Francesco listened quietly.
Then came the UEFA Players of the Year Award.
The nominees appeared on the screens.
The auditorium watched.
Francesco recognized every name.
Players who had produced extraordinary seasons.
Players who had carried their clubs through difficult matches.
Players who had performed at the highest level in Europe.
He had never seriously considered what it would feel like to hear his own name announced.
Then the presenter began speaking about the Champions League.
About decisive performances.
About goals.
About consistency.
About leadership.
The screen showed Arsenal again.
Francesco's face appeared.
Then another image.
Him lifting the Champions League trophy.
The presenter opened the envelope.
There was a pause.
And then.
"The UEFA Players of the Year Award goes to…"
Francesco stopped breathing for a moment.
"Francesco Lee."
The auditorium erupted in applause.
For a second, he simply sat there.
Alexis immediately grabbed his shoulder.
"Go!"
Özil was already smiling.
Wenger turned toward him with genuine pride.
Francesco looked at them as though they had just told him something impossible.
"Me?"
Alexis laughed.
"Yes, you!"
Francesco stood.
The applause grew louder.
Around them, representatives from other clubs joined in.
Some players applauded warmly.
Some nodded respectfully.
Francesco walked toward the stage.
Every step felt strangely unreal.
He could hear the applause.
See the lights.
See the cameras.
But his mind kept returning to the same thought.
Me?
He reached the stage and accepted the trophy.
The weight of it settled into his hands.
This was different from a Champions League trophy.
That had belonged to Arsenal.
To the squad.
To the coaches.
To everyone who had fought together.
This award carried his name.
Yet Francesco knew immediately that accepting it as though it belonged to him alone would feel wrong.
He approached the microphone.
For a moment, he looked out across the room.
Then he smiled.
"Thank you."
His voice carried through the auditorium.
"I honestly didn't expect this."
There was a small laugh from the audience.
Francesco glanced toward the Arsenal delegation.
"I've scored goals. I've had good matches. But none of that happens without the people around me."
He looked at Wenger.
"First, I'd like to thank my teammates."
The Arsenal players in the room applauded.
"You trusted me, helped me, corrected me when I needed it, and gave me opportunities to do what I love."
He paused.
"And thank you to Arsène, the coaching staff and everyone at Arsenal."
Wenger smiled.
"You've all helped me become a better player and, more importantly, a better teammate."
Francesco looked down briefly at the trophy.
"And our Champions League victory…"
His voice softened.
"That wasn't mine."
He shook his head.
"That was ours."
The words brought another round of applause.
"We won three Champions League titles in a row because of everyone in that dressing room. The players who started matches, the players who came off the bench, the staff, the medical team, everyone who worked every day."
He took a breath.
"And to the Arsenal supporters—thank you for believing in us."
Francesco smiled.
"This award means a lot to me. But I wouldn't be standing here without all of you."
The applause grew again.
Francesco stepped away from the microphone.
Wenger watched him return with the expression of a manager who was proud without needing to say much.
As Francesco sat down, Alexis immediately leaned toward him.
"You nearly made me emotional."
Francesco laughed.
"You're lying."
"No."
Özil smiled.
"Very good speech."
Francesco looked at the trophy.
"Still doesn't feel real."
Wenger finally spoke.
"Enjoy it."
Francesco looked at him.
"But remember something."
"What?"
"Tomorrow, you are still a footballer."
Francesco smiled.
"I know."
Wenger nodded.
"Good."
The ceremony continued around them, but Francesco found himself occasionally looking down at the trophy resting in his hands.
UEFA Players of the Year.
At seventeen, he had just been recognized as the best player in European football after a campaign in which he had helped lead Arsenal to their third consecutive Champions League title.
The achievement was enormous.
He understood that.
But it did not make him feel invincible.
If anything, it made him more aware of what came next.
Group F.
Lyon.
Shakhtar Donetsk.
Hoffenheim.
Three new challenges.
Three opportunities to prove Arsenal had not become complacent.
And now there would be another layer of expectation surrounding him.
People would expect more goals.
More performances.
More leadership.
Perhaps even another Champions League trophy.
Francesco looked toward Wenger.
The manager was already discussing something quietly with a member of the staff.
Even here, surrounded by Europe's biggest clubs, Wenger was thinking ahead.
Francesco smiled.
That was Arsenal.
They celebrated what they had achieved.
Then they planned for what came next.
He turned the trophy slightly in his hands, watching the lights reflect from its surface.
The previous campaign had made him a European champion.
Tonight, Europe had given him its individual recognition.
But neither achievement could play the next match for him.
Soon, Arsenal would return to England.
Training would resume.
The Premier League would continue.
And before long, the Champions League anthem would play again.
This time, Arsenal would walk onto the pitch not as hopeful challengers, but as three-time defending champions.
Francesco knew exactly what that meant.
The target on their backs had become larger.
The expectations had become heavier.
And the journey toward a fourth consecutive European title was already waiting.
He held the award firmly in his hands.
Then the trophy remained in Francesco's hands for a few more minutes before the ceremony finally came to an end.
Eventually, the lights came back up, conversations resumed, and the polished formality of the evening gave way to the ordinary business of football. People stood, shook hands, exchanged congratulations, and began making their way toward waiting cars.
Alexis was one of the first to reach Francesco.
"Still holding it?"
Francesco looked down at the award.
"I suppose I am."
"You should sleep with it."
Özil laughed.
"Please don't encourage him."
"I'm not encouraging anything," Alexis said. "I'm celebrating."
Wenger joined them, adjusting his jacket.
"Come. We have a flight to catch."
Francesco smiled and carefully handed the trophy to one of the Arsenal staff members, who would make sure it travelled safely.
For the first time that evening, his hands were empty.
It felt strangely appropriate.
The next morning, Monaco was already beginning to feel distant.
The Arsenal delegation returned to London, and the familiar rhythm of club football slowly reclaimed them. There were photographs, messages, congratulations from staff, and plenty of jokes waiting back home, but there was no extended celebration.
There couldn't be.
The season had already started.
The Premier League table did not care who had won an individual award.
The next opponent certainly wouldn't.
By the time Francesco walked through the doors at London Colney, the trophy had been put somewhere safe and the attention had moved toward training.
That was football.
One day you were standing beneath the lights in Monaco.
A few days later, you were pulling on your boots beside a training pitch.
Francesco actually preferred it that way.
The familiar sound of studs against concrete, footballs being struck, coaches calling instructions and teammates greeting one another made everything feel normal again.
Gnabry was among the first to tease him.
"So, European Player of the Year."
Francesco looked over.
"Yes?"
"You still have to run."
"I know."
"No special treatment?"
"Apparently not."
From nearby, Alexis called out.
"Wenger doesn't care about awards."
Wenger, walking past with a clipboard, answered without looking up.
"He should not."
A few players laughed.
Francesco grinned and joined the warm-up.
The sessions became increasingly demanding as the week progressed.
Wenger brought the squad's attention firmly back toward the Premier League. There was no lengthy discussion about the Champions League group. The names of Lyon, Shakhtar Donetsk and Hoffenheim were noted, analyzed and then put aside.
The same was true of Francesco's award.
It was acknowledged.
Then training continued.
Passing patterns were sharpened. Defensive distances were corrected. The midfield worked on moving the ball quickly through pressure while the forwards practiced coordinated movements between the lines.
Francesco found himself enjoying the simplicity of it.
Run.
Pass.
Move.
Press.
Finish.
Repeat.
There was something reassuring about football becoming football again.
The next fixture was Cardiff City away.
The journey to Wales came with the usual matchday routine. Players arrived at the training ground early, bags packed, headphones around their necks, conversations quieter than they had been on the morning after the Chelsea victory.
The coach headed west, the countryside passing beyond the windows.
Francesco sat with Özil for part of the journey, watching clips on a tablet.
"Cardiff will make it physical," Özil said.
Francesco nodded.
"They'll probably stay compact."
"And look for second balls."
"Exactly."
Wenger's instructions had been clear: Arsenal could not allow the occasion of being reigning champions to turn into complacency.
At Cardiff City Stadium, the home support was already making itself heard long before kick-off.
Blue scarves filled the stands.
Songs carried through the concourses.
The Arsenal players emerged from the bus and were greeted by a mixture of noise and whistles. Nothing unusual. Nothing personal.
Just Premier League football.
Inside the away dressing room, the familiar preparations began.
Boots were arranged beneath seats.
Shirts hung in their places.
Tape was wrapped around ankles.
Čech quietly prepared his gloves while Van Dijk and Koscielny discussed the Cardiff forwards. Kanté stretched in his usual focused silence. Alexis moved around the room joking with teammates before settling down.
Francesco sat for a moment, tying his laces.
The captain's armband rested beside him.
He picked it up and wrapped it around his arm.
No trophy.
No award.
Just the match.
Wenger entered shortly afterward.
The room settled.
"Be patient," he said. "They will make this difficult. Do not force the game."
He pointed toward the tactical board.
"They will defend narrow at times. We must move them. Use the width. When the opportunity is there, attack quickly. But if it is not there, we recycle."
His eyes moved across the room.
"And when we lose the ball, we react immediately."
The players nodded.
"Good. Let's play our football."
Outside, the warm-up began.
The stadium had filled considerably.
Cardiff supporters responded to every Arsenal touch with noise, while the travelling supporters sang from the away section.
Francesco went through finishing drills with Gnabry and Alexis, then joined the midfielders in a passing sequence.
The final minutes before kick-off passed quickly.
Eventually, the teams were called back inside.
The tunnel was crowded.
Cardiff players stood opposite them.
Handshakes followed.
Francesco exchanged a brief word with the Cardiff captain before turning toward the pitch.
The referee checked his watch.
The teams walked out.
The stadium erupted.
Arsenal's starting XI was announced: Čech in goal; Robertson, Van Dijk, Koscielny and Walker across the defence; Kanté and Xhaka in midfield; Özil behind Alexis, Gnabry and Francesco.
The whistle sounded.
Cardiff started aggressively.
Their forwards chased the Arsenal back line, while their midfielders attempted to close Kanté and Xhaka quickly.
For the opening ten minutes, Arsenal struggled to find their usual rhythm.
A Cardiff cross flashed across the face of goal.
Čech collected another dangerous delivery.
"Wake up!" Van Dijk shouted.
Francesco immediately pointed toward the midfield.
"Keep the ball. Make them move."
Arsenal responded.
Kanté began finding Özil between the lines. Robertson pushed higher. Walker stayed slightly deeper on the opposite side, allowing the back four to maintain balance.
Slowly, Cardiff were forced backward.
Then came the opening goal.
Özil received possession centrally and waited.
Francesco made a diagonal run toward the right side of the penalty area, dragging a defender with him.
Gnabry moved inside.
The space opened.
Özil slipped the ball through.
Francesco reached it first.
One touch.
Then another.
He opened his body and finished low beyond the goalkeeper.
1–0.
The Arsenal supporters erupted.
Francesco did not celebrate wildly.
He simply pointed toward Özil.
"Good ball."
Özil smiled.
"Good run."
Cardiff responded with renewed energy.
They refused to collapse.
The home side pushed Arsenal deeper, and for several minutes the match became scrappy. Kanté made a crucial interception inside the box, while Koscielny blocked a shot after Cardiff worked the ball through the right channel.
At halftime, Arsenal led 1–0, but Wenger was not satisfied.
"Too slow at times," he told them.
Francesco nodded.
"We need the second."
"Yes," Wenger replied. "But don't chase it."
The second half began with Cardiff again trying to impose themselves.
For a while, it worked.
Victor Camarasa began finding pockets of space around the edge of the Arsenal penalty area. Cardiff recycled possession and eventually forced Arsenal's midfield backward.
Then Camarasa received the ball just outside the box.
Xhaka moved toward him.
Camarasa shifted onto his right foot and struck.
The shot flew beyond Čech.
1–1.
The stadium exploded.
Francesco immediately turned toward his teammates.
"Forget it. We go again."
Arsenal did.
Wenger made adjustments, asking Özil to drop slightly deeper and giving Gnabry more freedom to attack the space behind Cardiff's full-back.
It worked.
Arsenal began stretching the home side.
Gnabry received the ball on the right, drove forward and exchanged passes with Özil before cutting inside.
The Cardiff defence backed away.
Gnabry kept going.
Then he curled his finish into the far corner.
2–1.
This time the Arsenal celebration was louder.
Gnabry was surrounded by teammates.
Francesco grabbed him by the shoulders.
"That's it."
Cardiff tried to respond immediately.
They pushed numbers forward, but that created exactly the spaces Arsenal wanted.
Kanté won possession.
Xhaka moved it quickly.
Özil released Alexis.
Alexis accelerated toward the penalty area.
Francesco made a run through the centre, taking a defender with him.
Alexis ignored him.
Instead, he cut inside and struck across goal.
The ball found the far corner.
3–1.
Alexis sprinted toward the corner flag before turning around as his teammates caught him.
"That's better!" he shouted.
The final stages became more controlled.
Cardiff continued fighting, but Arsenal's passing became increasingly assured.
Wenger made changes to protect the result and manage the players' workload, while the team maintained its shape.
Eventually, Giroud entered the match.
His presence immediately gave Arsenal another target higher up the pitch.
With Cardiff chasing the game, the Frenchman found space inside the box.
A low delivery came from the right.
Giroud met it first time.
4–1.
He raised both arms as Arsenal's bench celebrated.
Francesco applauded from outside the box.
The remaining minutes were managed professionally.
No unnecessary risks.
No frantic attacking.
Arsenal kept possession and waited for the referee's whistle.
When it came, Francesco exhaled.
Another three points.
Another difficult away match navigated successfully.
The scoreline was convincing, but the game had not been easy.
That was what mattered.
In the dressing room, the celebration remained controlled.
Music played quietly.
Players exchanged congratulations.
Wenger entered and gave them a simple assessment.
"Good response after they equalized. We can improve the first twenty minutes, but overall, good."
Francesco nodded.
The season continued.
And then came the international break.
When the England squad was announced, Francesco's name was absent.
Gareth Southgate had deliberately decided not to call him up.
There was no injury.
No disagreement.
No disappointment between player and manager.
It was simply rest.
The previous season had been enormous.
The Champions League campaign.
The domestic schedule.
The World Cup.
Then the immediate return to Arsenal and another demanding opening to the Premier League.
Southgate believed Francesco needed recovery more than another set of international fixtures.
When Francesco heard, he accepted it.
"Honestly," he told Leah that evening, "I think I need it."
Leah smiled.
"You were going to say no to England?"
"No."
"Good."
"I'll miss the lads."
"But you'll survive."
Francesco laughed.
"Probably."
The break gave him something he rarely had during a normal season.
Time.
He slept more.
Trained lightly.
Recovered.
Spent mornings at home with Leah and Cheddar.
Sometimes Cheddar would follow him around the house for no reason, as though supervising his recovery.
Francesco watched international football from a distance, checking Arsenal teammates' results and sending messages when appropriate.
The break was quieter for him than it was for many of the squad.
Kane, Henderson and the other England players were away.
Other Arsenal internationals travelled across Europe and beyond.
Francesco remained in London.
For once, he could simply watch.
Eventually, the international window ended.
One by one, the Arsenal players returned to London Colney.
The familiar noise came back.
So did Wenger's whistle.
There was no gentle reintroduction.
The manager immediately restored the competitive rhythm.
Conditioning first.
Then ball work.
Possession exercises followed.
Pressing.
Transitions.
Finishing.
Defensive organization.
Small-sided games that quickly became competitive enough to produce arguments over fouls and laughter when someone was nutmegged.
Francesco looked sharper.
The rest had worked.
He felt lighter, quicker and mentally clearer.
Wenger noticed.
"Better?"
Francesco nodded.
"Much."
"Good. Now work."
Francesco smiled.
"Yes, boss."
The next target was Newcastle United.
St James' Park.
The journey north was long enough for players to settle into their own routines. Some slept. Others watched films. A few played cards.
Francesco spent part of the trip studying Newcastle's defensive structure.
When Arsenal arrived, the stadium was already surrounded by supporters.
Black-and-white shirts filled the streets.
Flags moved above heads.
The noise increased as the bus approached the stadium.
Inside, the away dressing room was functional rather than luxurious.
Players changed.
Boots were checked.
Shirts prepared.
The atmosphere carried a different edge from Cardiff.
St James' Park demanded concentration.
The warm-up confirmed it.
Every Arsenal touch was met by noise.
Newcastle supporters made their feelings known throughout the session.
Francesco simply kept working.
Passing.
Sprinting.
Finishing.
Stretching.
Then the teams returned inside.
Wenger's final instructions were concise.
"They will press early."
He pointed toward the midfield.
"Don't panic. First pass must be clean."
Then toward Francesco.
"Use the space behind them."
Francesco nodded.
The tunnel filled.
Handshakes.
Brief introductions.
Then the teams walked out.
The stadium roared.
Arsenal's XI lined up.
Čech.
Robertson.
Van Dijk.
Koscielny.
Walker.
Kanté.
Xhaka.
Özil.
Alexis.
Gnabry.
Francesco.
The photograph was taken.
The referee raised his whistle.
Kick-off.
Newcastle attacked immediately.
Their midfield pressed Xhaka and Kanté aggressively, while the forwards attempted to isolate Koscielny and Van Dijk.
Arsenal refused to rush.
Kanté began finding pockets of space.
Özil drifted between midfield and defence.
Francesco repeatedly pulled toward the channels.
The first twenty minutes were physical.
Newcastle won challenges.
Arsenal answered with possession.
A tackle sent Alexis tumbling near the touchline.
The crowd roared.
Francesco helped him up.
"You alright?"
Alexis nodded.
"I'm good."
"Let's make them run."
Arsenal gradually did.
Özil received between the lines and played a clever pass toward Francesco.
Francesco held off his marker.
One touch.
He turned.
The Newcastle defence retreated.
Gnabry sprinted down the right, dragging another defender away.
Francesco carried the ball toward the box.
Then he saw the gap.
He struck from just outside the area.
The shot stayed low and bent away from the goalkeeper.
1–0.
The away section erupted.
Francesco turned toward the supporters and raised a fist before being surrounded by Alexis, Gnabry and Özil.
Newcastle responded with even greater intensity.
They pushed forward.
Čech made a strong save.
Van Dijk won a header under pressure.
Kanté intercepted a dangerous pass inside the box.
At halftime, Arsenal still led 1–0.
Wenger's message was clear.
"Do not defend the lead by becoming passive."
Francesco nodded.
"Keep playing."
"Exactly."
The second half became a test of patience.
Newcastle pressed.
Arsenal absorbed it.
The midfield worked relentlessly, Kanté constantly appearing wherever Newcastle threatened to break through.
Then Arsenal found another opening.
Xhaka won possession and moved it to Özil.
Özil turned and released Francesco into space.
Francesco was suddenly running directly at the defence.
One defender stepped across.
He shifted the ball onto his left foot.
Another moved toward him.
Francesco waited.
Then he struck through the gap.
The ball flew into the bottom corner.
2–0.
For a moment, the noise disappeared beneath the celebration from the Arsenal end.
Francesco ran toward his teammates.
Alexis reached him first.
"Two!"
Francesco laughed.
"Two."
Newcastle refused to surrender.
They pushed until the final minutes, but Arsenal's defensive structure held.
Robertson and Walker stayed disciplined.
Van Dijk commanded the back line.
Koscielny cleared everything that came into his area.
Čech claimed crosses confidently.
Kanté and Xhaka continued covering the midfield.
And Francesco kept leading from the front, pressing whenever Newcastle tried to build out.
When the final whistle came, Arsenal had their second away victory of the chapter of the season.
2–0.
Francesco stood for a moment, hands on his hips, breathing heavily.
Then he walked toward the travelling supporters.
His teammates followed.
The Arsenal fans sang loudly, celebrating the clean sheet and the two goals from their captain.
Francesco applauded them.
Nothing excessive.
Just gratitude.
Wenger waited near the touchline, speaking briefly with his staff.
Another win.
Another clean sheet.
Another three points.
As the players eventually made their way back toward the dressing room, Wenger caught Francesco.
"Good performance."
"Thanks."
"Two good finishes."
Francesco smiled.
"The team made them possible."
Wenger gave him the familiar look.
"Good answer."
Francesco laughed.
Inside the dressing room, the mood was happy but measured.
There was plenty of laughter after a demanding night, but everyone understood the larger picture.
The UEFA award was already several weeks behind them.
Cardiff had become another entry in the league table.
The international break had come and gone.
Now Newcastle was another three points secured.
The season was moving quickly.
Francesco knew that the individual award would follow him for months. So would the expectations that came with being captain of a team that had won three consecutive Champions League titles and three consecutive Premier League titles.
But the award could not help him against the next defender.
The previous season could not win the next match.
And two victories could not guarantee the next one.
Arsenal still had to defend their Premier League title.
They still had to compete for the Champions League, the FA Cup and the League Cup.
There would be injuries, difficult away grounds, tactical problems, tired legs and moments when things did not go according to plan.
That was football.
Francesco looked around at the dressing room.
His teammates were already talking about the journey home.
Someone was arguing about music.
Gnabry was laughing with Alexis.
Özil was quietly packing his boots.
Wenger was preparing to leave.
Francesco smiled to himself.
The trophy in Monaco had been special.
The four goals against Cardiff had mattered.
The rest during the international break had been necessary.
The two goals at St James' Park felt just as important in their own way.
Not because they were glamorous.
Because they moved Arsenal forward.
And that was all that mattered now.
Then Francesco picked up his bag and followed the team toward the dressing-room exit, leaving the noise of St James' Park behind as the new season had barely begun and yet it already demanding everything from them.
__________________________________________________
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: 6
Goal: 8
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