The King Of Arsenal

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As Francesco finally made his way out of the tactics room, he felt more locked in than ever. The sting of missing out on the Champions League hadn't vanished, but it had transformed into something else—motivation.

The days leading up to the FA Cup quarter-final against Manchester United had passed in a blur of training sessions, tactical meetings, and gym work. Francesco had pushed himself harder than ever, determined to make an impact at Old Trafford. The thought of knocking United out of the cup in their own backyard fueled him, and he knew the entire squad felt the same.

Now, on the morning of March 8, 2015, a day before the crucial match, Francesco stood in his apartment, carefully packing his luggage for the trip. His black duffel bag was open on the bed, half-filled with essentials.

He double-checked everything.

• Clean Arsenal travel tracksuit—check.

• Extra training gear—check.

• Boots, shin guards, and grip socks—check.

• Headphones, phone charger, and book for the flight—check.

He zipped the bag shut and slung it over his shoulder. His stomach was steady, his mind clear. There was no nervous energy—just anticipation. He had waited for this kind of moment since he stepped into professional football. Big game. Big stadium. Big stakes.

Taking one last glance around his apartment, making sure everything was in order, Francesco grabbed his car keys from the counter and headed for the door. He stepped into the elevator, the quiet hum filling the space as he descended to the parking garage. The doors slid open with a soft ding, revealing the dimly lit underground lot.

His black Civic sat where it always did, sleek and polished. It wasn't the flashiest car among the Arsenal squad—certainly not compared to Alexis' Lamborghini or Özil's Mercedes—but Francesco liked it that way. Understated. Efficient.

Unlocking the car with a quick beep, he slid into the driver's seat, setting his bag on the passenger side. The engine came to life with a smooth rumble as he shifted into gear and pulled out of the garage, merging into the quiet Sunday morning traffic of London.

The drive to the Arsenal Training Center was familiar, the roads nearly empty at this hour. The sun had barely risen, casting a golden hue over the city. Francesco rested one hand on the steering wheel while the other drummed lightly against his thigh. Soft R&B played through the speakers, blending with the low hum of the engine.

His mind wandered to the game.

United had been inconsistent this season under Van Gaal, but Old Trafford was never an easy place to win. The atmosphere, the pressure—it could get to teams. Arsenal hadn't won there in years, and this was their chance to break that curse.

By the time he reached the training ground, more cars had begun arriving. He pulled into his usual parking spot and turned off the engine. Stepping out, he spotted a few of his teammates already heading toward the entrance, some carrying their bags, others chatting casually.

Francesco grabbed his duffel bag and locked the car before making his way inside.

The players gathered in the main lobby, the usual pre-travel buzz in the air. Luggage bags were lined up along the walls as the squad prepared for their trip. Some were sipping coffee, others scrolling through their phones.

"Morning, mate," Aaron Ramsey greeted, nodding toward Francesco as he adjusted his bag strap.

"Morning, Rambo," Francesco replied, setting his bag down beside the others.

Across the room, Per Mertesacker and Laurent Koscielny were discussing something with the coaching staff, while Giroud was, unsurprisingly, fixing his hair in the reflection of a glass panel.

Theo Walcott walked past, nudging Francesco. "You ready for Old Trafford?"

Francesco smirked. "Always."

Before long, Wenger entered the room, his presence immediately bringing a sense of focus. He clapped his hands lightly.

"Alright, everyone, the bus is outside. Let's get moving."

The players picked up their bags and filed out, stepping into the crisp morning air as the team bus waited just outside the entrance.

Francesco climbed aboard, taking his usual seat near the middle. The bus was spacious, each player having their own comfortable spot. He placed his bag in the overhead compartment before settling in.

As the engine rumbled to life, he pulled out his headphones and scrolled through his playlist, eventually settling on some calm instrumental music.

The bus rolled out of the training ground, heading toward the airport. Conversation flowed around him—Giroud and Coquelin discussing United's defense, Ramsey and Cazorla debating over their best route of attack.

Francesco leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes for a moment.

He could already picture the stadium. The floodlights. The away section packed with Arsenal fans. The tension in the air as the referee blew the whistle.

This was why he played football.

The ride to the airport was smooth, and soon, the team arrived at the private terminal. A few media personnel and fans had gathered outside, hoping for a glimpse of the squad. Cameras flashed as the players stepped off the bus, some fans calling out names, hoping for autographs.

Francesco adjusted his bag strap and kept his head down, following the others inside. They moved quickly through security, the process streamlined for the team's travel.

Inside the lounge, Wenger gathered them briefly.

"Tomorrow is an opportunity," he said simply, looking around at each player. "Play with intelligence. Play with confidence. Play with heart."

There was no need for a long speech. The squad understood what was at stake.

A few minutes later, boarding was announced, and the team made their way onto the private jet.

Francesco took a window seat, watching as London faded beneath them. He had traveled countless times for matches, but there was always something about these big-game trips that felt different.

Across the aisle, Mesut Özil was reading a book, while Alexis was already deep in a conversation with one of the coaches about positioning. Walcott and Chamberlain had their headphones on, watching something on a tablet.

Francesco pulled out his phone, scrolling through messages. A few well-wishes from friends, a text from his family reminding him to stay focused. He responded briefly before setting the phone aside and closing his eyes.

The next time he opened them, the plane was beginning its descent into Manchester.

The team disembarked, stepping into the cool Manchester air. A bus was waiting to take them to the hotel where they would be staying overnight.

As they drove through the city, Francesco gazed out the window, catching a glimpse of Old Trafford in the distance.

As the team bus rolled into the hotel's private entrance, the players shifted in their seats, stretching their legs and gathering their belongings. The ride from the airport had been smooth, the mood inside calm but focused. Now, as they stepped out one by one into the brisk Manchester evening, the reality of the occasion set in. Tomorrow, they would walk onto the pitch at Old Trafford with a place in the FA Cup semi-final at stake.

Francesco adjusted the strap of his duffel bag as he stepped off the bus, taking in the scene. The hotel was modern and luxurious, the kind of place Arsenal always stayed at when traveling for big matches. Staff members in uniform waited at the entrance, prepared to guide them through check-in.

The players lined up in the lobby, waiting to be assigned their rooms. Some chatted idly, others pulled out their phones, checking messages or scrolling through social media. Francesco glanced around, noting the familiar pre-match atmosphere—focused, but with an underlying tension.

Wenger stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back, and the conversations gradually died down. His calm presence always commanded attention.

"Alright, listen up," he said, his voice measured. "After you receive your room assignments, you'll have some time to settle in. Dinner will be served in the restaurant downstairs at seven. Once we finish eating, we'll have a tactical briefing in the meeting room. We'll discuss Manchester United's approach under Van Gaal and the possible lineup we'll be facing tomorrow."

A few nods of acknowledgment rippled through the squad. No one expected any surprises—this was routine. Preparation was everything at this level.

Wenger gave a small nod. "That's all for now. Rest well."

One by one, the players stepped forward as a member of the Arsenal staff handed them their room keys and assigned roommates. Francesco ended up sharing with Hector Bellerín, which was fine by him. They got along well, and Bellerín wasn't the type to stay up late watching TV or playing video games.

With his keycard in hand, Francesco took the elevator up to his floor alongside Bellerín. The ride was quiet, both players lost in their own thoughts. When they reached their room, Francesco swiped the keycard, pushing the door open.

The room was sleek and spacious, the beds neatly made, a large window offering a view of the city skyline. A small sitting area and desk were positioned near the window, while the bathroom was stocked with luxury toiletries.

Francesco tossed his bag onto the bed closest to the window and stretched his arms. Bellerín did the same, cracking his neck as he walked over to his suitcase.

"Long day," Bellerín muttered as he unzipped his bag. "But tomorrow's even bigger."

Francesco nodded, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Yeah. We need to get this win. It's been too long since we won at Old Trafford."

Bellerín smirked. "No better time to change that."

They both fell into a comfortable silence as they unpacked the essentials—training gear for the next morning, fresh clothes for the flight back. Francesco checked his phone, replying to a few messages from friends and family. A simple text from his father stood out:

"Play your game. Stay sharp. We'll be watching."

A small smile tugged at his lips. His family had always supported him, no matter what. That was all the motivation he needed.

After freshening up, Francesco changed into a clean tracksuit and met Bellerín by the door. They headed downstairs together, joining the rest of the squad as they made their way to the restaurant.

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The restaurant was reserved exclusively for the team, providing a quiet and focused environment. Tables were already set, with warm lighting giving the room a relaxed atmosphere. A buffet-style spread had been arranged, offering a variety of lean proteins, vegetables, pasta, and other athlete-friendly meals.

Francesco grabbed a plate and filled it with grilled chicken, steamed vegetables, and a portion of pasta. He poured himself a glass of water before finding a seat next to Aaron Ramsey and Theo Walcott.

"Not going for the steak?" Ramsey joked, eyeing Francesco's plate.

Francesco smirked. "Keeping it light. Don't want to feel heavy tomorrow."

"Smart," Walcott chimed in, taking a bite of his own meal. "We're gonna need to be sharp. United's midfield is no joke."

Across the room, Giroud was deep in conversation with Laurent Koscielny, likely discussing United's defensive setup. Meanwhile, Alexis and Özil were speaking quietly with Wenger, possibly about attacking movements.

As they ate, conversations flowed naturally. There was a balance between focus and relaxation—everyone knew the importance of the match, but staying too tense wouldn't help. The squad had been together long enough to understand the right mindset before big games.

Once dinner was finished, Wenger stood up, signaling that it was time for the tactical briefing. The players pushed back their chairs and made their way to the hotel's meeting room.

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The meeting room was set up with rows of chairs facing a large projector screen. A whiteboard stood at the front, already marked with formations and key tactical notes. The coaching staff was in position, laptops open, prepared to go over the details.

Francesco took a seat near the front, leaning forward slightly as the session began.

Wenger stepped up, his demeanor calm but authoritative.

"Tomorrow," he began, "we face a Manchester United team that, while inconsistent, has quality in every position. Under Van Gaal, they prioritize possession and structured buildup play. However, they also have weaknesses—weaknesses we can exploit."

He clicked a remote, and the projector screen came to life with clips from United's recent matches.

"They favor a 4-1-4-1 system," Wenger continued. "Michael Carrick or Daley Blind will sit deep, dictating play, while the likes of Ander Herrera and Marouane Fellaini push forward. We need to be wary of Fellaini's aerial threat—he'll look to win second balls and create chaos in our box."

The next clip showed United's backline struggling under pressure.

"They are vulnerable when pressed aggressively. Their defenders, particularly Chris Smalling and Marcos Rojo, can be forced into mistakes. Our pressing triggers will be key—Francesco, Alexis, Theo, I want you to be relentless in pressing their backline."

Francesco nodded, absorbing the information. He already had a picture in his head of how to apply it.

Wenger switched to another clip.

"Offensively, they rely on quick transitions. Di María, if he plays, will try to stretch the game wide. Rooney will likely drop deep to link play. We need our midfield to stay compact and disciplined."

The discussion continued, moving through various scenarios, counterattacks, and defensive responsibilities. Players chimed in, asking questions, offering insights.

As the briefing came to an end, Wenger looked around the room.

"We have the quality to win this match," he said. "But it will come down to execution. Stay disciplined. Stay hungry. Play without fear."

With that, he dismissed them.

As Francesco stood up, stretching his legs, he felt a familiar sense of anticipation. The preparation was done. Now, all that remained was the game itself. Tomorrow, under the lights of Old Trafford, they would have their chance to prove themselves.

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Name : Francesco Lee

Age : 16 (2014)

Birthplace : London, England

Football Club : Arsenal First Team

Championship History : None

Match Played: 18

Goal: 23

Assist: 12

MOTM: 7