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And as the players disappeared beneath the stands, the defending three-time consecutive champions had sent their first message of the new campaign without needing to shout it.
Then the following morning arrived without an alarm.
For once, Francesco did not have to wake to the thought of training.
There was no tactical meeting waiting for him at London Colney. No recovery session. No coach knocking on the door. No match preparation.
Just a quiet morning.
Sunlight slipped through the curtains of the Richmond mansion and spread gradually across the bedroom floor. Francesco remained under the covers for another few minutes, enjoying the rare feeling of having nowhere he needed to be immediately.
Beside him, Leah was already awake.
She was lying on her side, scrolling through her phone.
"You're awake," Francesco mumbled.
Leah glanced over.
"Unfortunately."
Francesco smiled.
"What time is it?"
"Nearly eight."
He groaned softly and pulled the duvet higher.
"That's not a day off."
Leah laughed.
"You're seventeen. You'll survive."
Francesco turned his head toward her.
"After last night, I think I deserve another hour."
"You scored, what, one goal?"
He gave her an exaggerated look.
"Only one?"
"Fine. One and a half."
"That makes no sense."
"I'm still waking up."
She put her phone down and leaned over, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead.
"You've got somewhere to be later, though."
Francesco sighed.
"The Armani thing."
"Exactly."
He nodded.
The photoshoot had been arranged well in advance, and although the morning was technically free from football, his professional commitments away from the pitch had not disappeared.
Still, there was no reason to rush.
Eventually Francesco got out of bed and wandered downstairs in comfortable clothes.
Cheddar was already waiting.
The corgi appeared around the corner the moment he heard footsteps, his little paws tapping rapidly against the floor.
"Morning," Francesco said.
Cheddar stared at him.
Then at the kitchen.
Then back at him.
Francesco laughed.
"You've been waiting for breakfast, haven't you?"
The corgi's tail began wagging.
Leah came downstairs a moment later.
"He hasn't eaten yet."
"I can tell."
Francesco crouched and scratched behind Cheddar's ears.
The dog immediately leaned into him.
The kitchen was peaceful.
No television blaring.
No phones ringing.
No football discussion.
Francesco made himself something simple while Leah prepared coffee, and for a while they simply moved around each other without needing to say much.
That was what he liked about mornings like this.
Nothing needed to happen.
He could sit at the kitchen island with a mug in his hands, listen to Leah talk about training, watch Cheddar patrol the room in search of anything remotely edible, and forget about the fact that only hours earlier he had been standing beneath the Champions League lights at the Emirates.
Leah eventually checked the time.
"I need to leave soon."
Francesco looked toward her.
"Colney?"
"Yeah. We've got training."
He nodded.
Football never really stopped for her either.
She gathered her things from the hallway while Francesco went upstairs to get ready for his own appointment.
He showered, changed and checked the details on his phone.
Armani Photo Studio — London.
He had already been given the schedule.
Arrival.
Grooming.
Fitting.
Photography.
Several wardrobe changes.
The session would take most of the morning.
Francesco looked at himself briefly in the mirror.
No Arsenal shirt today.
No boots.
No captain's armband.
Just another side of his professional life.
Downstairs, Leah was waiting near the front door.
She looked at him.
"Ready?"
"Almost."
She smiled.
"Try not to look too serious."
"I don't."
"You always do when cameras are around."
"That isn't true."
Leah raised an eyebrow.
"It absolutely is."
Francesco laughed.
"Alright."
She stepped closer and kissed his cheek.
"Have fun."
"You too."
"Don't get lost in London."
"I have Barnett."
"That doesn't make me feel better."
Francesco smiled.
Leah opened the door.
Cheddar immediately followed her halfway outside.
"No," she told him.
The corgi stopped.
Francesco watched Leah crouch to scratch his head.
"Be good."
Cheddar looked deeply unconvinced.
Leah stood again and glanced back at Francesco.
"See you later."
"See you."
She gave him one last smile before heading toward her car.
Francesco remained at the doorway for a moment, watching her leave.
Then he looked down at Cheddar.
"Well."
The corgi looked up.
"It's just us."
Cheddar wagged his tail.
"Until Barnett arrives."
As if summoned by name, a car appeared outside a short while later.
Jonathan Barnett stepped out.
Francesco grabbed his jacket and headed outside.
Barnett greeted him with a handshake.
"Morning."
"Morning."
"How are you feeling?"
"Good."
"After last night?"
"A little tired. But fine."
Barnett nodded.
"Good. Today is straightforward."
Francesco climbed into the car.
"Three hours?"
"Approximately."
"And four outfits."
"Four outfits," Barnett confirmed. "They're launching a new line, so they want different looks."
Francesco settled into his seat.
"And the contract?"
Barnett glanced at him.
"We'll talk about it today."
Francesco nodded.
"Okay."
"Nothing dramatic. They want to extend. We discuss the numbers, duration, obligations, image rights, appearances. Normal business."
Francesco smiled.
"Sounds exciting."
Barnett laughed.
"You'd be surprised."
The car pulled away from the mansion and joined the morning traffic.
London was already awake.
Buses moved steadily along the roads. Cyclists threaded between vehicles. People hurried toward stations and offices, coffee cups in hand.
Francesco watched the city pass through the window.
The previous evening had been all floodlights and roaring supporters.
This morning was different.
Grey buildings.
Traffic.
Ordinary commuters.
And somewhere ahead, another part of his career was waiting.
The Armani studio occupied a polished London building with a discreet entrance and a reception area designed to feel elegant without being excessive.
As Francesco and Barnett stepped inside, an Armani representative approached them immediately.
"Mr Lee. Jonathan. Welcome."
The representative, a neatly dressed man named Marco, offered his hand.
"It's very good to see you again."
Francesco shook it.
"Thank you."
"We're delighted to have you back."
Marco gestured toward the interior.
"Everything is ready."
The atmosphere inside was completely different from a football facility.
Clothing racks lined one side of the studio, each garment covered carefully until it was needed.
Stylists moved between stations.
Assistants checked lists.
Photographers adjusted camera equipment.
Large lighting rigs stood around the main shooting area, while cables had been secured neatly along the floor.
A makeup artist was already waiting.
"Francesco, we'll start with grooming."
He followed her toward the changing area.
The process was understated.
A little concealer beneath the eyes.
Skin preparation.
Hair adjusted rather than radically styled.
Nothing that made him look like someone else.
The stylist then brought out the first suit.
Dark charcoal.
Clean cut.
Minimal detailing.
Francesco stepped into it.
The jacket was adjusted around his shoulders.
The trousers were taken in slightly.
The cuffs were checked.
A shirt collar was repositioned.
The stylist stepped back.
"Perfect."
Francesco looked at himself in the mirror.
"Feels good."
"You're comfortable?"
"Yeah."
"Good. We'll start."
The first set was formal.
Francesco stood against a clean architectural backdrop.
The photographer gave simple instructions.
"Shoulders slightly toward me."
Francesco adjusted.
"Good. Chin down."
Another change.
"Look directly at camera."
Flash.
Again.
Then a slight turn.
Another series.
At first, Francesco was visibly more comfortable moving around a football pitch than standing in front of several cameras.
The photographer noticed.
"Don't worry about posing too much."
Francesco laughed.
"I'm trying."
"I can tell. Just relax."
That helped.
The next few shots became more natural.
A slight smile.
A neutral expression.
Hands in pockets.
One hand resting against the jacket.
The photographer reviewed the images.
"Much better."
Barnett watched from nearby.
He was not involved in the creative direction.
His attention was elsewhere.
Business.
Contracts.
Schedules.
Commercial obligations.
The first outfit was completed.
Then came the second.
A lighter suit.
Different shirt.
Different shoes.
The lighting was changed.
The background was altered.
The poses became less formal.
Francesco leaned against a wall for one sequence, then sat in a chair for another.
The photographer kept the instructions concise.
"Relax."
"Look left."
"Now toward me."
"Good."
Three hours passed surprisingly quickly.
The third outfit was a darker, sharper design.
The fourth was one of Armani's new-release suits, prepared specifically for the campaign.
By then Francesco had completely settled into the process.
He no longer thought about where his hands were.
He stopped overthinking his expressions.
When the photographer asked for a different angle, he simply adjusted.
When the stylist changed the jacket, he waited patiently.
When assistants moved lights, he stood aside and joked quietly with Barnett.
During a break between outfits, Marco approached Barnett.
"Jonathan, perhaps we can discuss the renewal."
Barnett nodded.
"Of course."
They moved slightly away from the main set.
Francesco continued with the next fitting.
Marco lowered his voice.
"We've been very happy with the partnership."
"So have we."
"His profile has grown considerably since the original agreement."
Barnett smiled.
"I'd say that's an understatement."
Marco laughed.
"We believe he has become an important part of the brand."
"Then the renewal should reflect that."
"It will."
They went through the existing arrangement.
Contract length.
Campaign appearances.
Digital content.
Photography rights.
International usage.
Exclusivity.
Travel obligations.
Barnett listened carefully, occasionally making notes.
"We don't want to overload him," Barnett said. "Football remains his priority."
"Understood."
"And image rights need to be clearly defined."
"Of course."
"We also need flexibility around his Arsenal schedule."
"That's not a problem."
Marco nodded.
"And financially?"
Barnett looked at him.
"That's where we need to have a serious conversation."
Marco smiled.
"I expected that."
They continued discussing figures, but neither rushed the process.
The conversation was paused when the photographer called across the studio.
"Francesco, we're ready for the final set."
Barnett turned.
"Go."
Francesco nodded.
The final photographs were taken.
When the last flash went off, the photographer lowered the camera.
"That's it."
Francesco exhaled.
"Finally."
Everyone laughed.
Marco approached.
"You were excellent."
"Thank you."
"You became very comfortable by the end."
Francesco smiled.
"I just stopped thinking about it."
"That usually helps."
Barnett checked his watch.
Marco looked toward him.
"Shall we continue this over lunch?"
Barnett nodded.
"That works."
A nearby restaurant had already been suggested.
The three of them left the studio together, stepping back into London's busy streets.
The contrast was immediate.
Inside the studio, everything had been controlled.
Outside, London simply carried on.
Cars passed.
People walked along the pavements.
A bus pulled away from a stop.
Francesco followed Barnett and Marco toward the restaurant.
Lunch was relaxed.
No photographers.
No lighting equipment.
No assistants rushing around.
Just a table, three people and a business conversation that mattered.
Once drinks had been ordered, Marco returned to the contract.
"We want to extend for three additional years."
Barnett leaned back.
"And the annual figure?"
Marco stated the proposal.
Barnett considered it.
"Thirty million per year?"
"Yes."
Barnett remained quiet for a moment.
Francesco listened without interrupting.
The discussion continued.
Barnett went through the value of Francesco's international profile, his role as Arsenal captain, his UEFA Players of the Year recognition and the growing reach of the partnership.
Marco explained Armani's perspective.
They were not simply looking for a footballer to wear suits.
They wanted a long-term association with a young athlete whose profile was expanding beyond football.
Francesco understood that distinction.
His name was becoming part of something larger.
Not replacing football.
Just existing alongside it.
The negotiation continued for some time.
There were questions about appearances.
Campaign launches.
International shoots.
Scheduling.
Usage periods.
Renewal terms.
Barnett made sure every point was clear.
Marco answered each one carefully.
Eventually, the final details were settled.
Three years.
£30 million per year.
An extension that would keep Francesco with Armani for another significant chapter of his career.
Marco smiled and extended his hand.
"I think we have an agreement."
Barnett shook it.
"Agreed."
Francesco shook Marco's hand afterward.
"Thank you."
"We're very pleased."
There was no extravagant celebration.
Just quiet satisfaction.
For Francesco, the number itself was difficult to fully comprehend.
He was nineteen
He was an Arsenal captain.
A World Cup champion
A European champion.
UEFA Players of the Year.
Two times Ballon d'Or.
And now his career away from football was becoming almost as substantial as the attention surrounding him on the pitch.
He sat back and took a breath.
Barnett noticed.
"You alright?"
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
"Big day."
"It is."
Lunch continued for a little while longer, but the hard part was finished.
Eventually the plates were cleared.
Marco stood.
"Thank you both."
Barnett rose.
"Thank you."
Another handshake.
Francesco offered his hand as well.
"It was good working with you."
"You too."
They exchanged polite farewells before going their separate ways.
Outside, the afternoon traffic had thickened.
Barnett and Francesco returned to the car.
The drive back toward Richmond was quieter.
Neither needed to fill every minute with conversation.
Francesco leaned against the window and watched London pass again.
The studio.
The cameras.
Four suits.
Three hours.
Then lunch.
A negotiation.
Another major agreement.
It had all happened in a single day.
Barnett glanced toward him.
"Happy?"
Francesco thought for a second.
"Yeah."
"Good."
Francesco smiled.
"But I'm still glad I get the rest of the day off."
Barnett laughed.
"Fair enough."
The car continued through the afternoon streets.
When they finally reached Richmond, the mansion appeared ahead.
Barnett pulled up outside.
Francesco unfastened his seat belt.
"Thanks."
"No problem."
Francesco opened the door.
Then paused.
"See you soon."
Barnett nodded.
"Enjoy the rest of your day."
Francesco stepped onto the pavement.
The car pulled away.
He stood there for a moment, watching it disappear down the road.
Then he opened the front door.
The house was quiet.
No training.
No cameras.
No meetings.
No negotiations.
Just home.
From somewhere inside came the familiar sound of Cheddar's paws racing across the floor.
Francesco smiled.
"I'm back."
The corgi rounded the corner at full speed.
Francesco crouched immediately, catching him in both arms.
"Missed me?"
Cheddar answered with an enthusiastic wag, as Francesco laughed at Cheddar enthusias.
Then for the next few days, Francesco allowed himself to enjoy the quiet.
The Armani agreement was no longer something he needed to think about. Barnett had handled the paperwork, the studio had moved on to its next campaign, and Francesco's attention gradually returned to the place where most of his life still revolved.
Football.
By the time he returned to London Colney, the Champions League win over Lyon was already beginning to feel like part of the season rather than the defining event of it.
That was the rhythm of Arsenal now.
Win.
Recover.
Train.
Prepare.
Then do it again.
There was barely enough time to celebrate one performance before Wenger was asking them to concentrate on the next.
Everton were first.
The Emirates was busy long before kickoff, the familiar red-and-white surroundings filling gradually as supporters made their way into their seats. The evening had the feel of a proper Premier League fixture, and Wenger responded to it by selecting his strongest available side.
Čech started in goal.
Robertson, Van Dijk, Koscielny and Walker formed the back four.
Kanté and Xhaka anchored midfield, with Özil operating ahead of them.
Alexis and Gnabry started either side of Francesco.
And Francesco, as always, wore the captain's armband.
There was no experimental selection this time.
Wenger wanted rhythm.
Everton, meanwhile, arrived with enough quality to make the afternoon uncomfortable if Arsenal became careless.
From the opening whistle, Arsenal made their intentions clear.
They did not rush.
Kanté continually offered himself between the lines, while Xhaka dropped into deeper positions whenever Everton attempted to press high. Özil drifted into pockets behind the midfield, constantly forcing Everton's players to decide whether to follow him or protect the space around Francesco.
The first chance came after only a few minutes.
Walker found Gnabry down the right, and the German winger cut inside before slipping a pass toward Francesco. Francesco reached it just ahead of the defender but could not quite get enough power behind his effort, allowing the goalkeeper to gather.
He clapped his hands once.
"Again."
Arsenal kept coming.
Everton defended with determination, blocking crosses and closing passing lanes whenever possible. For stretches, the match became a test of patience rather than speed.
That suited Arsenal.
Around the half-hour mark, Kanté recovered another loose ball and immediately found Özil.
The German midfielder turned.
One touch.
Then another.
Francesco had already begun moving.
Özil saw him.
The pass arrived between the centre-back and full-back, weighted perfectly into the channel.
Francesco accelerated onto it.
The defender recovered enough to narrow the angle, so Francesco did not force the finish. Instead, he waited for Gnabry to make the overlapping movement before cutting the ball back toward the edge of the area.
Xhaka struck it.
The shot flew narrowly over.
Francesco nodded appreciatively.
"That was close."
"It was supposed to be inside the goal," Xhaka replied.
Francesco laughed.
The breakthrough finally came before halftime.
Everton tried to play through midfield, but Kanté stepped in front of the pass and won possession cleanly.
Xhaka collected the loose ball and immediately released Özil.
Özil carried forward.
Alexis moved inside from the left, taking a defender with him.
That created the opening.
Özil slid the ball into Francesco.
He took one touch toward the penalty area, waited for the centre-back to commit, and then shifted the ball onto his right foot.
The finish was low.
Precise.
Across the goalkeeper and into the far corner.
1–0.
Francesco turned toward the supporters with both arms briefly raised before Gnabry reached him first.
"Yes!"
Alexis arrived moments later, grabbing Francesco around the shoulders.
"Good finish."
Francesco smiled.
"Good ball."
The remainder of the half was managed intelligently.
Everton threatened once or twice, but Van Dijk and Koscielny remained composed, while Čech dealt comfortably with the deliveries that came into his area.
At halftime, Wenger's message was simple.
"Do not chase the second goal."
He pointed toward the tactical board.
"Make them move. The spaces will come."
They did.
Arsenal gradually stretched Everton across the width of the pitch, forcing the visitors to defend longer distances.
The second goal came through Alexis.
Özil received possession centrally and played toward Robertson, who advanced before finding Alexis between two defenders.
Alexis turned sharply.
Francesco's movement dragged the centre-back away.
That was enough.
Alexis drove into the space and curled his shot beyond the goalkeeper.
2–0.
The Emirates erupted.
Everton tried to respond, pushing higher and leaving more room behind.
Arsenal punished them again late in the match.
This time Gnabry finished it.
Walker won the ball near halfway and found Özil. Özil moved it quickly to Kanté, who returned it into his path.
A few seconds later the ball reached Gnabry on the right.
He drove toward the box, cut inside and unleashed a firm shot that found the far side of the net.
3–0.
The celebration was enthusiastic, but not excessive.
Arsenal knew they had earned the result.
Everton had made them work for it.
When the final whistle came, Francesco applauded the supporters and then turned toward his teammates.
Three goals.
Another clean sheet.
Another Premier League victory.
The confidence was there, but so was the understanding that every point still had to be earned.
The next fixture arrived quickly.
Watford.
Again, the Emirates.
But the match carried a different character from the Everton game.
Watford were more aggressive from the beginning, attempting to disrupt Arsenal's buildup with quicker pressure rather than sitting deep.
Wenger had prepared for it.
"Move it before they arrive," he told his players in the dressing room.
Arsenal did exactly that.
The passing was quicker.
Özil often dropped alongside Xhaka to help escape the press, while Kanté positioned himself slightly higher to attack the second ball.
Francesco remained between the centre-backs, constantly shifting from one shoulder to the other.
The opening goal came after a clever interchange.
Alexis collected possession on the left and played inside to Özil.
Francesco dropped several yards.
His marker followed.
That created space.
Özil immediately recognized it.
A pass went into Francesco's feet.
He returned it first time.
Özil continued his run and then slipped the ball back through.
Francesco was suddenly beyond the defensive line.
He took one touch and finished low.
1–0.
The Emirates rose as one.
Watford tried to answer immediately, but Arsenal's defensive structure held.
Čech made one important save when a Watford forward broke into the area, and Van Dijk followed it by clearing the rebound before anyone could react.
Arsenal then found a second.
Alexis started the move himself, carrying the ball inside before exchanging passes with Xhaka.
Gnabry stretched the defence on the opposite side.
Francesco occupied both centre-backs.
Alexis received the return pass and drove into the box.
He opened his body and curled the ball into the corner.
2–0.
This time, Wenger's instructions at halftime were different.
"Good. Now manage the game."
The schedule mattered.
Another European fixture was approaching.
There was no reason to expose Francesco to unnecessary minutes when the match was under control.
After the interval, Wenger eventually made the changes.
Francesco came off.
Olivier Giroud replaced him.
Gnabry followed shortly afterward, with Bukayo Saka taking his place.
Francesco settled onto the bench, towel around his shoulders, and watched.
The decision proved sensible.
Giroud gave Arsenal a different reference point, holding the ball with his back to goal and bringing midfielders into play.
Saka immediately attacked the space on the right.
His first goal came after a patient Arsenal move.
Saka received the ball near the corner of the penalty area, cut inside and exchanged a quick pass with Giroud.
The return arrived perfectly.
Saka finished into the far corner.
3–0.
The young winger celebrated with both fists clenched before turning toward the bench.
Francesco was already standing.
"Come on!"
Saka pointed toward him.
A few minutes later, Giroud added the fourth.
Saka this time provided the service, whipping a low delivery toward the six-yard box.
Giroud anticipated it perfectly.
One touch.
Finish.
4–0.
Wenger applauded from the technical area.
The result was convincing, but the manager's substitutions had been about something bigger than that afternoon.
Fresh legs mattered.
A long season required more than eleven players.
When the whistle finally went, Francesco walked onto the pitch and congratulated Giroud and Saka.
"Good job."
Saka smiled.
"You saw that?"
"I was sitting right there."
"I meant the finish."
"I saw that too."
Giroud laughed.
"You two can argue about it later."
The players returned to the dressing room satisfied.
Four goals.
Another clean sheet.
And Francesco had played only the portion Wenger needed from him.
That became even more important when the Carabao Cup arrived.
Wenger rotated heavily.
David Raya started in goal.
Monreal, Mustafi, Holding and Bellerín formed the defence.
Ramsey, Youri Tielemans and Matteo Guendouzi lined up in midfield.
Smith Rowe played further forward.
Saka and Giroud led the attack.
Francesco sat on the bench.
Wenger had made his intention very clear.
Rest.
The cup fixture was not being ignored.
It was being used.
For Tielemans and Guendouzi, however, there was nothing routine about it.
This was their Arsenal debut.
Tielemans looked composed during the warm-up, but Francesco could see the occasional glance toward the stands.
Guendouzi was even more visibly restless, bouncing lightly on his toes before kickoff.
Francesco leaned forward from the bench.
"Enjoy it."
Both players glanced back.
"You've earned this."
Guendouzi smiled.
Tielemans nodded.
When the match began, their nerves gradually disappeared.
Tielemans played with intelligence, receiving the ball under pressure and constantly looking forward. His passing was crisp, particularly when switching play from one side to the other.
Guendouzi was different.
More energetic.
More aggressive.
He chased loose balls, pressed midfielders and carried possession forward whenever the opportunity appeared.
Neither tried to imitate anyone.
They simply played their own games.
Giroud opened the scoring after Ramsey delivered a dangerous ball into the area.
The Frenchman rose above his marker.
Header.
1–0.
Saka added the second before halftime, finishing after a quick Arsenal combination on the edge of the area.
Francesco applauded from the bench.
"Good!"
Ramsey completed the scoring in the second half.
3–0.
By then the match had become an opportunity for the squad rather than a contest that needed Francesco's intervention.
When the final whistle sounded, Tielemans stood for a moment, taking in the noise.
Guendouzi was grinning.
Francesco walked over first.
"Congratulations."
Guendouzi laughed.
"Finally."
Tielemans shook Francesco's hand.
"Thank you."
"First of many."
Wenger entered the dressing room shortly afterward.
He allowed the players a few minutes before speaking.
"Good performance. Not perfect."
The room settled.
"But that is not the point tonight. We rotated. We kept our structure. The new players contributed, and nobody forgot the responsibility of wearing this shirt."
His eyes moved toward Tielemans and Guendouzi.
"You should be proud."
Both nodded.
Francesco leaned back against his locker.
Wenger noticed him.
"And you."
Francesco looked up.
"Yes?"
"Resting you was deliberate."
"I know."
"Good."
Francesco smiled.
"I wasn't planning on arguing."
"Excellent. You're learning."
A few players laughed.
The mood remained light as the dressing room began to loosen.
For Francesco, there was genuine satisfaction in watching Tielemans and Guendouzi begin their Arsenal careers.
He knew how important a first competitive appearance could feel.
Especially in a squad where expectations were so high.
The following days returned them to London Colney.
This time, there was no need for heavy match recovery.
The coaching staff gradually increased the intensity.
Conditioning work came first.
Then passing circuits.
Then positional exercises designed around receiving under pressure.
The midfielders worked on circulation while the forwards practiced movements behind defensive lines.
Later came pressing patterns.
Wenger stopped play repeatedly, correcting distances between the lines.
"Closer."
The players adjusted.
"Again."
They reset.
Finishing followed.
Crosses from wide areas.
Cutbacks.
First-time strikes.
Headers.
Defenders worked separately on clearances and maintaining the line before joining the full tactical session.
As the Champions League match approached, the training became increasingly specific.
Hoffenheim.
Sinsheim.
Group F.
Arsenal had already taken three points from Lyon, but nobody treated the next match as a formality.
Wenger showed clips of Hoffenheim's buildup.
Their movement.
Their pressing triggers.
The spaces they tried to create.
Francesco listened carefully.
He understood what the manager was preparing them for.
A different opponent.
A different country.
A different night.
On the morning of departure, the Arsenal squad gathered at the airport with bags already prepared and club staff coordinating everything around them.
The mood was relaxed, but there was a clear sense of purpose.
Alexis joked with Saka about the flight.
"Don't fall asleep before takeoff."
Saka laughed.
"Why?"
"You'll miss the important part."
"What important part?"
"Food."
Francesco shook his head as he walked past.
"You're both children."
Alexis pointed at him.
"You're nineteen."
"And captain."
"That doesn't make you older."
Francesco laughed.
Once aboard, the squad settled into their seats.
Some players talked quietly.
Others put on headphones.
Staff members reviewed documents and tactical notes.
Wenger sat with members of his coaching team, looking over the final preparation material.
Francesco spent part of the flight speaking with Özil and Kanté about Hoffenheim's midfield.
"They move quickly," Özil said.
"So we move quicker," Francesco replied.
Kanté smiled.
"Simple."
Not easy.
But simple.
As the aircraft descended, the landscape outside the window changed.
London disappeared behind them.
Germany stretched beneath the plane.
Soon the aircraft landed, and the Arsenal players began making their way through the airport and toward the waiting transport.
The journey toward Sinsheim continued by road.
Francesco watched the countryside pass beyond the glass.
The domestic victories.
The Everton performance.
The Watford rotation.
The Carabao Cup debutants.
The training sessions.
Every part of the previous weeks had led them here.
Another European night.
Another opportunity.
By the time the team bus reached Sinsheim, the evening light had begun to settle over the town.
The players stepped down one by one, greeted by club staff and the familiar routine of an away European fixture.
Francesco adjusted his jacket and looked toward the hotel.
In two days, another Champions League match will begin.
For now, though, the journey was over.
The squad had arrived.
Group F was waiting.
And Arsenal's European campaign was ready to continue.
__________________________________________________
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: 9
Goal: 11
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