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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
And as evening settled over Richmond, their day slowly came to a peaceful end.
The evening after the zoo date slipped into a quiet rhythm.
Richmond settled slowly under the soft glow of streetlights and the last fading streaks of sunset.
Inside Francesco's mansion, the calm lingered.
Cheddar had eventually collapsed onto the living room rug after his explosive greeting, his small corgi body stretched out dramatically as if guarding the entire house by sheer presence alone.
Leah sat cross-legged on the couch scrolling through the photos from the day.
Francesco walked past with two glasses of water and handed one to her before sitting beside her.
She swiped to the picture from Penguin Beach.
The bright blue pool behind them.
Two penguins waddling across the rocks in the background.
Her arm around his waist.
Both of them smiling naturally.
Not the forced smile of press conferences.
Not the composed expression of post-match interviews.
Just genuine happiness.
Leah smiled softly.
"That's a good one."
Francesco leaned closer to look.
"Yeah."
She scrolled again.
Then again.
Gorillas.
Lions.
A blurry photo of a sloth that looked like it had been taken during an earthquake because Leah had started laughing halfway through.
Francesco chuckled.
"You're terrible at photography."
"I was emotionally overwhelmed."
"By a sloth."
"By the moment."
He leaned back against the couch.
"Sure."
Cheddar lifted his head from the rug and gave a sleepy little bark as if contributing to the conversation.
Leah pointed at him.
"See? He agrees with me."
Francesco shook his head.
"That dog is biased."
The evening drifted on gently like that.
No plans.
No rush.
Eventually Leah left for her own place later that night, promising they would see each other again soon.
And just like that, the quiet days before preseason began.
The week moved in a strange rhythm for Francesco.
Half relaxation.
Half anticipation.
The calm before football returned.
Most mornings started early anyway, years of professional training had rewired his body clock.
Even without official club sessions, he still woke before eight.
Some days he ran along the quiet roads near Richmond.
Long steady runs beneath rows of trees.
Other days he trained lightly at the private gym inside his house.
Nothing intense.
Just enough to stay sharp.
Light weights.
Stretching.
Ball control drills on the small training pitch behind the mansion.
Cheddar often joined these sessions in his own way.
Which mostly meant stealing the ball whenever Francesco wasn't looking.
More than once Francesco had turned around to find the corgi sprinting across the grass with a football nearly bigger than him.
"Hey!"
Cheddar would just keep running.
Tail wagging.
Proud of the theft.
Francesco would jog after him laughing.
"Return possession immediately."
Cheddar never obeyed.
Leah often join his training during that week.
Sometimes they went for coffee in Richmond.
Sometimes she brought takeout and they watched movies in the living room while Cheddar slept between them like a furry referee.
Sometimes they talked about football.
Her season with Arsenal Women.
His upcoming preseason.
The expectations.
The pressure.
But mostly they tried not to think about that yet.
They were both athletes.
They understood exactly what was coming.
Training camps.
Matches.
Travel.
Schedules that swallowed time.
So they made the most of the quiet while it lasted.
One afternoon they walked through Richmond Park together.
Cheddar trotted proudly ahead of them with a small red leash bouncing behind him.
Leah nudged Francesco as they walked.
"You realize once preseason starts you're going to disappear into the football vortex."
"Temporary vortex."
"Very temporary."
He glanced at her.
"You say that like you don't understand."
She smiled knowingly.
"I do understand."
Professional athletes lived inside calendars.
Every season was mapped.
Training cycles.
Matches.
Recovery days.
But knowing that didn't make the time apart easier.
Francesco reached down and scratched Cheddar's head as they walked.
"We'll figure it out."
Leah nodded.
They always did.
The morning finally arrived.
The first day back.
Preseason.
The quiet days ended the moment Francesco's alarm rang at 6:45 AM.
He opened his eyes slowly.
For a moment he just lay there staring at the ceiling.
That familiar feeling was back.
The shift in mindset.
Game mode.
Not full intensity yet.
But the switch had flipped.
Preseason had begun.
Cheddar jumped onto the bed like a small missile, clearly believing this was the perfect moment to start the day.
Francesco groaned.
"Too early."
Cheddar licked his face.
"No."
"Yes."
Francesco sat up, rubbing his face.
"Alright."
The dog barked proudly.
Mission accomplished.
By 8:15 AM the BMW X5 rolled quietly out of the Richmond driveway.
The morning air was cool.
Clouds drifted lazily across the sky.
London traffic hadn't fully awakened yet.
Francesco drove steadily toward London Colney Training Centre, the familiar training complex that had been the center of his football life.
Music played softly through the speakers.
But his mind was already elsewhere.
Fitness tests.
New tactics.
New season ambitions.
He thought about the squad.
Who had returned.
Who looked sharp.
Who had spent the summer relaxing too much.
Preseason always revealed the truth quickly.
By the time he turned onto the quiet road leading to the training center, the first few cars were already parked outside the gates.
The security guard at the entrance smiled as the BMW approached.
"Morning, Francesco."
"Morning."
The gates slid open.
The familiar Arsenal crest stood proudly on the building ahead.
Home base.
Inside the parking area, several cars were already parked in their usual spaces.
Footballers loved routine.
Parking spots became unofficial territory.
Francesco slowed the car and spotted a few familiar vehicles.
A sleek Mercedes that belonged to Mesut Özil.
A Range Rover that could only belong to Olivier Giroud.
And nearby, a black Audi that likely belonged to Virgil van Dijk.
One by one the squad was arriving.
Francesco pulled into his usual spot and switched off the engine.
For a moment he just sat there.
Looking at the training complex.
The grass pitches stretching out behind the buildings.
Ground staff already moving equipment.
Cones.
Mini goals.
Training mannequins.
The season had begun again.
He grabbed his training bag and stepped out of the car.
Cool morning air hit his face.
From across the lot, a familiar voice called out.
"Francesco!"
He turned.
Andrew Robertson jogged across the parking lot wearing a training jacket.
"Morning mate."
Francesco nodded.
"Morning Robbo."
Robertson stretched his arms.
"Back to suffering."
"Preseason joy."
Robertson snorted.
"Joy my ass."
They walked toward the building together.
Near the entrance another tall figure appeared carrying a coffee.
Virgil van Dijk.
The Dutch defender looked relaxed but focused.
"Morning boys."
Francesco nodded.
"Morning."
Van Dijk glanced between them.
"Ready for fitness tests?"
Robertson groaned dramatically.
"No."
Francesco smirked.
"You're a defender. Just run slowly and look serious."
"Rude."
They entered the building.
The hallway smelled exactly the same as always.
Fresh laundry.
Grass.
Training equipment.
The dressing room door swung open.
Inside, players were already arriving.
Laughter.
Voices.
The familiar buzz of teammates reconnecting after summer.
Mesut Özil sat casually at his locker tying his boots.
He looked up immediately.
"Ah!"
He pointed dramatically.
"The goal machine returns."
Francesco laughed.
"Good morning to you too."
Özil stood and gave him a quick hug.
"Did you miss football?"
"A little."
"You scored thirty goals last season and you say a little."
Francesco shrugged.
"Could have been forty."
Across the room Olivier Giroud raised his eyebrows.
"Relax, my friend."
Giroud walked over with a grin.
"You will scare the defenders already."
They bumped shoulders in greeting.
More players arrived behind them.
Kyle Walker burst through the door loudly.
"WHO MISSED ME?"
Groans echoed across the room.
Robertson shouted back.
"No one!"
Walker clutched his chest dramatically.
"Pain."
Francesco laughed.
Same chaos as always.
A moment later another familiar figure entered quietly.
N'Golo Kanté.
Soft smile.
Humble as ever.
He greeted everyone politely.
"Good morning."
Francesco shook his hand.
"Ready to run twelve kilometers today?"
Kanté smiled.
"Maybe fifteen."
Robertson groaned again.
"Why do you exist?"
More players filtered into the dressing room.
Laurent Koscielny discussing tactics with Van Dijk.
Serge Gnabry joking with Walker near the lockers.
The squad was coming together again.
Different personalities.
Different nationalities.
But one team.
One goal.
Francesco walked to his locker.
His name sat above it.
Same place.
Same routine.
He opened the locker door.
Inside hung the Arsenal training kit.
Red training shirt.
White shorts.
Socks neatly folded.
He changed quickly.
Pulling the shirt over his head.
Lacing his boots.
Around him the dressing room buzzed with conversation.
Giroud stretched dramatically on the floor.
Walker challenged Robertson to a sprint before breakfast.
Özil leaned back in his chair sipping coffee like a philosopher.
Van Dijk calmly taped his ankles.
Kanté quietly prepared for the coming running session like it was nothing.
Francesco finished tying his boots and stood.
He looked around the room.
This was the group.
The players who would fight through the coming season together.
Matches.
Victories.
Defeats.
Pressure.
But right now?
It was just the beginning.
Preseason.
Outside the dressing room window the training pitches shone bright green under the morning sun.
Cones were already set.
Fitness coaches waited.
The hard work was about to start.
Walker clapped his hands loudly.
"Alright boys!"
Robertson groaned.
"Don't say it."
Walker grinned.
"Let's suffer."
The room erupted in laughter.
Francesco shook his head smiling.
The laughter in the dressing room slowly faded as the last players finished changing.
Boots were tightened.
Shin guards slid into place.
Training tops adjusted.
The loose chaos of greetings and jokes began to shift into something more focused.
Professional.
That was always how preseason mornings went.
The first twenty minutes felt like the reunion of old friends after summer break.
But once the boots were tied and the door to the pitch waited outside…
The footballers returned.
Francesco grabbed a red Arsenal training jacket from the bench and zipped it halfway up.
Across from him, Mesut Özil finally stood from his locker, finishing his coffee and tossing the empty cup into the bin with a lazy flick that somehow landed perfectly.
Walker pointed.
"Show off."
Özil smirked.
"Technique."
Nearby, Virgil van Dijk stood up from taping his ankles and rolled his shoulders once like a man preparing for battle.
"Alright," he said calmly. "Let's go before the fitness coach comes in here and drags us out."
Robertson groaned loudly.
"You say that like he wouldn't actually do it."
Francesco chuckled as he stood.
"Robbo, you complain every preseason."
"I complain every running session," Robertson corrected.
"Consistency."
"Exactly."
Across the room, N'Golo Kanté had already finished preparing and was standing quietly by the door, bouncing lightly on his toes.
The man looked ready to run a marathon for fun.
Walker noticed.
He pointed accusingly.
"See him?"
Robertson looked.
"Yeah."
Walker shook his head.
"That's the problem."
Kanté blinked innocently.
"What?"
"You enjoy this," Robertson said.
Kanté smiled shyly.
"Running is nice."
The room erupted with groans again.
Francesco shook his head laughing.
"Alright. Enough."
He clapped his hands once.
"Let's go suffer."
Walker pointed dramatically.
"He said it! Not me!"
The squad began filing toward the door.
Boots clacking lightly against the floor.
Water bottles grabbed.
Training jackets zipped.
One by one they stepped into the hallway and moved toward the exit leading to the pitches.
The moment the door opened, cool morning air rushed inside.
The training fields of London Colney Training Centre stretched out under bright sunlight.
Perfect grass.
Fresh white lines.
Cones already placed in careful patterns across several sections of the pitch.
Beyond them, a few members of the coaching staff stood waiting.
And at the center of them all stood the familiar figure of Arsène Wenger.
Tall.
Composed.
Hands resting lightly in the pockets of his long training coat.
Beside him stood several assistant coaches discussing something over a clipboard.
Fitness staff moved equipment into position.
Heart-rate monitors.
Timing gates.
Resistance bands.
Everything was ready.
As the players stepped onto the grass, the smell of the pitch hit immediately.
Freshly cut grass mixed with morning dew.
That smell always meant one thing.
Football was back.
Francesco took a deep breath as he walked out.
He had missed this.
Not the running.
Not the suffering.
But the environment.
The energy.
The purpose.
Behind him, Kyle Walker stretched his arms dramatically.
"Ah yes."
Robertson looked suspicious.
"What?"
Walker grinned.
"The smell of pain."
"Shut up."
Nearby, the goalkeepers joined the group.
The towering presence of Petr Čech walked calmly across the grass wearing his protective helmet as always.
Beside him came David Ospina, already bouncing lightly on his toes.
Walker pointed again.
"Even the keepers have to run."
Ospina laughed.
"Of course."
Robertson sighed dramatically.
"No one escapes."
The squad gathered in a loose semicircle in front of the coaching staff.
Wenger stepped forward slowly.
He looked across the group of players.
His gaze calm but observant.
Every preseason he did the same thing.
He studied them.
Fitness.
Focus.
Body language.
The manager always noticed everything.
"Good morning, gentlemen."
The players responded together.
"Morning boss."
Wenger nodded slightly.
"I hope everyone enjoyed their holidays."
A few players chuckled quietly.
Walker muttered under his breath.
"Past tense already."
Wenger continued.
"But now we begin again."
His tone remained calm.
Measured.
But every player there understood what it meant.
The long season ahead had started.
"This first week," Wenger said, "will focus primarily on physical preparation."
Robertson groaned softly.
Van Dijk elbowed him.
"Quiet."
Wenger continued speaking.
"We rebuild fitness."
"We sharpen movement."
"And most importantly…"
He looked across the squad again.
"We rebuild our collective rhythm."
Francesco listened quietly.
Every preseason speech was similar.
But it always carried weight.
Because the work behind those words would define the season.
Wenger nodded once toward the fitness coach.
"Alright."
"Let us begin."
The first phase started simply.
Light jogging around the pitch.
The entire squad moved together in a loose pack.
Boots brushing softly against the grass.
The morning sun warming their backs.
Francesco settled into an easy rhythm beside Mesut Özil and Serge Gnabry.
Özil glanced sideways.
"Still scoring thirty goals this year?"
Francesco shrugged.
"Maybe thirty-five."
Gnabry laughed.
"Relax."
"We haven't even done the first sprint yet."
Behind them Walker shouted.
"THIS IS A TRAP!"
Robertson yelled back.
"IT'S A WARM-UP!"
"I DON'T TRUST IT!"
Even Wenger smiled slightly watching the chaos.
After two laps, the pace increased slightly.
Players began stretching while jogging.
High knees.
Side shuffles.
Arm rotations.
The squad moved fluidly across the grass.
Even the goalkeepers joined.
Čech's long strides carried him smoothly along the outside of the group.
Ospina sprinted ahead briefly before circling back.
Everyone worked.
No exceptions.
After the warm-up laps, the players gathered in rows across the pitch.
Fitness coaches demonstrated movements.
Hamstring stretches.
Hip mobility.
Core activation.
Francesco leaned forward stretching his hamstrings while Olivier Giroud groaned dramatically beside him.
"Why does this hurt more every year?"
Francesco didn't look up.
"Because you get older."
Giroud pointed accusingly.
"You are also getting older."
"Yes but I pretend better."
Nearby N'Golo Kanté completed every stretch with perfect form and zero complaints.
Walker watched him suspiciously.
"Are you even human?"
Kanté laughed softly.
"I think so."
Van Dijk shook his head.
"He's built different."
After twenty minutes of stretching and mobility work, the fitness coach stepped forward holding a whistle.
Every player immediately recognized the setup.
Cones placed in long lines across the pitch.
Distance markers.
Timing gates.
The dreaded preseason running drills.
Robertson looked at Francesco.
"Here we go."
Walker raised his hands to the sky dramatically.
"Goodbye cruel world."
Francesco smirked.
"You'll survive."
"Barely."
The fitness coach raised his whistle.
"Alright lads."
"First set."
"Forty-meter accelerations."
"Ten repetitions."
"Full recovery between runs."
Groans echoed across the squad.
But everyone lined up immediately.
Professional instinct.
Francesco stepped to the starting cone.
Beside him stood Walker.
On the other side Van Dijk.
Behind them Kanté bounced lightly like this was the best day of his life.
The whistle blew.
They exploded forward.
Boots digging into the grass.
Powerful strides.
Forty meters gone in seconds.
Francesco slowed to a jog at the far cone and turned around.
Walker bent over immediately.
"Why do we do this sport?"
Van Dijk laughed.
"Because we're good at it."
"Debatable."
The whistle blew again.
Second sprint.
Then the third.
By the sixth repetition sweat already rolled down several faces.
Breathing grew heavier.
Muscles waking up after weeks without full intensity.
But the pace stayed high.
Nobody slacked.
Professional pride wouldn't allow it.
Francesco pushed through each sprint smoothly.
His body remembered the rhythm quickly.
Acceleration.
Stride length.
Controlled breathing.
Across from him, Kanté finished every run looking like he could do another twenty.
Walker pointed again.
"Unfair."
At the far end of the pitch the goalkeepers trained alongside them.
Petr Čech sprinted with powerful long strides despite his massive frame.
Beside him David Ospina moved quickly through the drills as well.
Goalkeepers had different training later.
But for preseason fitness?
They suffered just like everyone else.
Ospina jogged past Walker after one sprint.
"You okay?"
Walker pointed at him.
"Don't talk to me."
Čech chuckled quietly.
Just when everyone thought the worst might be over, the fitness coach clapped his hands.
"Alright."
Robertson looked terrified.
"No."
The coach continued.
"Next drill."
"Interval runs."
Robertson covered his face.
Walker whispered dramatically.
"We had a good run."
Francesco laughed.
"Relax."
Van Dijk cracked his neck once.
"Let's go."
Players lined up again across the pitch.
This time the distance markers stretched much further.
Long endurance runs.
Repeated intervals.
The kind that slowly drained every ounce of energy.
Wenger watched quietly from the sideline with the assistant coaches.
Observing.
Evaluating.
Taking notes.
The whistle blew.
And the squad ran again.
As Francesco pushed through the interval runs, sweat soaked through his training shirt.
His lungs burned slightly.
His legs felt the weight of each stride.
But inside, something else grew stronger.
That familiar competitive fire.
Preseason always hurt.
But it also reminded him why he loved the game.
Because every player on that field was pushing themselves.
Every sprint.
Every drop of sweat.
All building toward the same goal.
Another season.
Another fight for trophies.
He glanced sideways briefly during one run.
Van Dijk powering forward beside him.
Kanté floating along like a tireless engine.
Walker complaining but still keeping pace.
Robertson grumbling but refusing to fall behind.
Robertson grumbling but refusing to fall behind.
That was the strange beauty of preseason.
Everyone complained.
Everyone suffered.
But no one ever quit.
Not here.
Not at Arsenal.
The final whistle of the endurance run eventually blew across the pitch, sharp and merciful.
For a moment the entire squad slowed to a stop almost in unison.
Hands dropped to knees.
A few players bent forward trying to catch their breath.
Others walked slowly in circles, letting their legs settle.
Sweat darkened nearly every training shirt.
Even the players who pretended they weren't tired were clearly feeling it.
Kyle Walker collapsed dramatically onto the grass.
"That's it."
"I retire."
Andrew Robertson stood nearby with his hands on his hips, breathing hard.
"You say that every year."
Walker pointed weakly at the sky.
"This time I mean it."
Across the field N'Golo Kanté jogged lightly in place as if he had just finished a gentle warm-up instead of the same brutal endurance session.
Walker noticed immediately.
He sat up and stared.
"See?"
He pointed again.
"That's not normal."
Kanté smiled politely.
"I feel good."
Robertson shook his head.
"Of course you do."
Nearby, Virgil van Dijk wiped sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his training shirt and walked toward the water cooler.
"Hydrate," he said calmly to no one in particular.
Several players followed his example immediately.
Water bottles opened.
Cold water splashed across faces.
The short recovery period felt like heaven.
But it didn't last long.
At the sideline, Arsène Wenger spoke briefly with the assistant coaches before clapping his hands once.
The sound carried across the pitch.
Heads lifted.
Players slowly regrouped.
Wenger gave a small approving nod.
"Good."
"Now we move to football."
Those four words instantly changed the atmosphere.
Fatigue was still there.
Burning lungs.
Heavy legs.
But the mood shifted.
Because football training was always better than running.
Even when it was still exhausting.
Francesco rolled his shoulders once and grabbed his water bottle for a final sip before jogging toward the next setup of cones.
"Here we go," he muttered quietly.
The first technical exercise appeared simple on paper.
But preseason legs made everything harder.
The coaches had arranged several stations around the edge of the penalty area.
At each station a player would receive a pass, take a touch, and shoot quickly on goal.
Rotations kept everyone moving.
Different angles.
Different approaches.
Left foot.
Right foot.
First-time finishes.
The goalkeepers took position in the nets.
Petr Čech guarded one goal while David Ospina stood ready in the other.
Francesco stepped into line behind Olivier Giroud.
Giroud stretched his neck and looked back.
"Alright."
"Time to remind everyone I am the striker."
Francesco smirked.
"You say that like I forgot."
Giroud pointed at him.
"You score too much."
"Someone has to."
Ahead of them, Mesut Özil delivered the first pass of the drill.
Perfect as always.
Smooth.
Precise.
Giroud stepped forward, controlled the ball, and fired a powerful right-footed shot toward the bottom corner.
Čech dove.
But the ball slid past his fingertips and into the net.
Giroud raised both arms.
"Yes!"
Walker shouted from another line.
"Relax!"
"It's the first shot!"
Giroud turned proudly.
"Still counts."
Now it was Francesco's turn.
Özil rolled the ball toward him.
The moment the ball touched his boot everything felt natural again.
Even with tired legs.
One touch to set it.
Then he struck cleanly with his right foot.
The ball curved sharply toward the far corner.
Čech reacted instantly.
But the shot was too precise.
The net rippled.
A few teammates whistled.
Walker groaned loudly.
"Oh great."
"He's already scoring."
Francesco jogged away from the station smiling slightly.
The shooting drills continued rapidly.
Balls flying toward goal.
Goalkeepers diving left and right.
Occasionally shouting instructions.
"Quicker release!"
"Better first touch!"
"Follow the shot!"
Even the defenders joined.
Van Dijk blasted a powerful strike that nearly tore the side netting.
Robertson attempted a left-footed shot that sailed ten meters over the crossbar.
Walker pointed immediately.
"SATELLITE!"
Robertson glared.
"You try it!"
Walker did.
And his shot flew wide of the post entirely.
The squad erupted in laughter.
After twenty minutes of shooting, the players rotated to another area of the pitch where rows of cones formed narrow dribbling lanes.
This drill focused on tight control.
Quick feet.
Sharp turns.
The kind of work that rebuilt technical rhythm after weeks away from intense training.
Francesco stepped into the first lane.
A coach rolled the ball toward him.
"Ready?"
He nodded.
"Go."
He pushed the ball forward and began weaving between the cones.
Left.
Right.
Inside touch.
Outside touch.
Sharp turns around the final marker before accelerating toward the end cone.
Even with tired legs the movement felt smooth.
Football always returned quickly to players at this level.
Behind him, Serge Gnabry flew through the cones with explosive pace.
Walker entered the lane next and immediately clipped one of the cones with his boot.
It flew sideways.
The coach shook his head.
"Focus."
Walker raised his hands.
"Sabotage."
Robertson shouted from another lane.
"Skill issue!"
Kanté's turn came next.
He glided through the cones effortlessly.
Tiny precise touches.
Never losing control.
Walker stared again.
"That man is suspicious."
Van Dijk laughed quietly.
Next came defensive exercises.
Pairs of players lined up across the pitch.
One attacker.
One defender.
Short one-on-one battles starting near the edge of the penalty area.
The goal was simple.
Attackers tried to dribble past.
Defenders stopped them.
Van Dijk naturally dominated most of his duels.
His long legs and perfect positioning shut down attackers quickly.
Francesco faced Robertson in one round.
Robertson crouched slightly in defensive stance.
"Don't embarrass me."
Francesco smiled.
"No promises."
The whistle blew.
Francesco pushed the ball forward with quick steps.
A feint left.
Then right.
Robertson followed well at first.
But Francesco accelerated suddenly and slipped past him with a sharp touch.
Robertson turned and chased but it was too late.
Walker screamed from the sideline.
"COOKED!"
Robertson threw his hands up.
"Shut up!"
The drill continued with intense little battles all over the pitch.
Tackles.
Blocks.
Sharp turns.
Occasionally a burst of laughter when someone slipped or lost balance.
Even Wenger smiled watching the competitiveness.
Next the assistant coaches set up crossing drills.
Wide players delivered balls into the penalty area.
Strikers and midfielders attacked the crosses with headers.
The goalkeepers returned to the nets for this one.
Ospina adjusted his gloves.
Čech rolled his shoulders.
The first cross came from Robertson on the left side.
A high looping ball into the box.
Giroud charged forward.
Leaping powerfully.
His forehead met the ball with a heavy thud.
The header flew toward goal.
Čech reacted fast and tipped it over the bar.
Giroud clapped his hands.
"Good save."
Next cross.
This time Walker delivered from the right.
Francesco timed his run.
One step.
Two.
Then he launched upward.
For a moment everything slowed.
The ball descending.
The crowd of bodies below.
He connected cleanly with his forehead.
The header angled sharply toward the corner.
Ospina dove.
But the ball slipped just inside the post.
Goal.
Walker pointed.
"Alright that was nice."
Francesco jogged away with a grin.
The heading drills continued with players flying into the air again and again.
Defenders trying to clear.
Strikers trying to score.
Voices shouting instructions.
Boots thumping against turf.
After the intense drills, the coaches introduced a lighter exercise.
Classic football training fun.
Piggy in the middle.
A circle formed with two players in the center trying to win the ball while everyone else passed quickly around them.
Walker and Robertson were chosen as the first defenders.
Walker clapped his hands.
"Oh I like this one."
The ball moved quickly around the circle.
Özil passed.
Van Dijk passed.
Kanté flicked a one-touch pass across the ring.
Walker chased helplessly.
Robertson lunged desperately.
But the ball kept moving.
Francesco received a pass from Gnabry and instantly chipped it over Robertson's foot toward Giroud.
Robertson groaned.
"This is bullying."
Walker finally intercepted a pass after nearly a minute of chasing.
He raised both arms like he had just scored a Champions League winner.
"YES!"
The circle erupted with laughter.
"Relax!" Van Dijk said.
"You touched the ball once!"
"Still counts!"
The next defenders stepped into the middle.
And the playful chaos continued.
Piggy in the middle always looked silly from the outside.
But it sharpened reflexes.
Quick passing.
Spatial awareness.
And it kept the mood light after the brutal running earlier.
Even Wenger watched with quiet amusement.
Before the final session of the morning began, the goalkeepers separated from the group briefly.
While the outfield players prepared for the scrimmage, Petr Čech and David Ospina walked toward the far goal where the goalkeeper coach waited.
Their specialized drills began immediately.
Quick reaction saves.
Low diving stops.
High catches from crosses.
The goalkeeper coach fired shot after shot toward them from short distance.
Čech moved with calm precision.
Ospina reacted explosively to every strike.
Meanwhile the outfield players gathered near midfield preparing for the final training exercise.
The assistant coaches quickly divided the squad into two teams.
Training bibs were handed out.
Walker pulled on a blue bib and looked disappointed.
"I wanted red."
Robertson shrugged.
"You get what you get."
Francesco's team wore yellow bibs.
Van Dijk walked over beside him.
"Let's win this."
Francesco nodded.
"Always."
The goalkeepers finished their drills and joined the scrimmage.
Čech stepped into one goal.
Ospina into the other.
The pitch suddenly felt alive again.
Real football.
Movement.
Space.
Competition.
Wenger blew the whistle.
The scrimmage began.
Immediately the tempo rose.
Quick passes.
Defenders pressing high.
Midfielders fighting for control.
Even though it was just preseason training, nobody wanted to lose.
Walker sprinted down the right wing shouting.
"PASS!"
Robertson intercepted instead.
Giroud held the ball up near the penalty area.
Francesco made a sharp run behind the defense.
Giroud spotted it and chipped a clever pass forward.
Francesco controlled it smoothly and struck toward goal.
Čech reacted instantly.
Diving left to push the shot wide.
"Good save!" Giroud shouted.
The scrimmage continued with fast attacking moves from both sides.
Van Dijk commanded the defense like a general.
Kanté covered seemingly every inch of the midfield.
Özil threaded delicate passes between defenders.
Walker sprinted relentlessly up and down the wing.
Even after the brutal fitness training earlier, the competitive energy carried everyone forward.
Because once the ball started moving, fatigue faded and football took over and the long journey toward the new season truly began.
______________________________________________
Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 18 (2016)
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, and 2016/2017 Champions League.
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