If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
_____________________________
(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
Because once the ball started moving, fatigue faded and football took over and the long journey toward the new season truly began.
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.
For nearly thirty minutes the scrimmage flowed at a surprisingly intense pace.
The players had started the morning with heavy legs and burning lungs.
Now, as passes zipped across the pitch and challenges flew in, the rhythm of football slowly erased the fatigue.
That was always the strange magic of the sport.
You could feel completely exhausted, until the ball started rolling.
Then suddenly your body remembered what it was built to do.
Francesco drifted into a pocket of space near the edge of the box as Mesut Özil lifted his head in midfield.
Their eyes met for half a second.
That was enough.
Özil slipped a pass between two defenders with surgical precision.
Francesco darted onto it.
One touch forward.
A defender closing.
He shifted the ball slightly to the right and struck low toward the far corner.
But David Ospina reacted quickly.
The Colombian goalkeeper dove low and parried the shot away.
"Ahhh!" Walker shouted dramatically from the wing.
"Keeper saving his career!"
Ospina sat up laughing.
"Respect your goalkeeper."
"Never," Walker replied.
On the opposite side of the pitch Andrew Robertson charged down the left flank before whipping a cross toward Olivier Giroud.
Giroud leapt high between two defenders.
Thud.
His header flew toward the corner.
But Petr Čech extended one long arm and tipped the ball over the bar.
"Still got it!" Walker yelled.
Čech simply raised a calm hand in acknowledgment.
At midfield N'Golo Kanté quietly intercepted another pass.
Then another.
Then another.
Walker noticed and groaned loudly.
"This guy again."
Kanté smiled shyly.
"I just run."
Van Dijk chuckled.
"You run everywhere."
The scrimmage eventually ended with a long whistle from the sideline.
Players slowed to a jog.
Then a walk.
Several collapsed onto the grass again.
The morning sun had climbed high above the training ground now.
Sweat soaked through every shirt.
But there were smiles everywhere.
It had been a hard session.
A proper preseason morning.
And it was only the beginning.
Training continued day after day at London Colney Training Centre.
Morning sessions.
Afternoon recovery work.
Gym strength programs.
Video analysis meetings.
The rhythm of professional football slowly returned.
Each day the players grew sharper.
Fitness improved.
Passing became faster.
Movements became more instinctive.
The early soreness of preseason began fading as bodies adapted again to the workload.
Francesco arrived every morning just after sunrise.
Coffee in hand.
Training bag over his shoulder.
Sometimes he arrived alongside Virgil van Dijk, who seemed permanently calm no matter how brutal the training sessions were.
Other mornings Kyle Walker would already be there complaining loudly about the upcoming running drills.
"Why is the sun already hot?"
"It's 8 AM!"
Robertson would reply from behind him.
"Because we're athletes."
Walker would shake his head.
"Speak for yourself."
Despite the constant complaining, everyone worked hard.
Because preseason determined the foundation of the entire year.
Every sprint mattered.
Every gym session mattered.
Every drill sharpened the team.
And slowly the tactical ideas of Arsène Wenger returned to the squad.
Passing triangles.
Quick transitions.
High pressing.
Fluid attacking movement.
Wenger rarely raised his voice during training.
He simply observed.
Corrected.
Adjusted.
A few quiet words here.
A small tactical tweak there.
But players listened carefully.
Because the manager noticed everything.
One afternoon, after a particularly intense training session involving small-sided games and pressing drills, Wenger gathered the entire squad near the center circle.
The players walked toward him slowly.
Some stretching their legs.
Others drinking water.
Walker dropped onto the grass dramatically again.
Robertson nudged him with his boot.
"Get up."
"I'm conserving energy."
"For what?"
"For complaining later."
Van Dijk shook his head with a small smile.
When everyone gathered, Wenger folded his arms behind his back and looked across the squad.
The training ground fell quiet.
"Gentlemen," he began calmly.
"You have worked well this week."
A few players nodded.
Others wiped sweat from their foreheads.
"But now," Wenger continued, "we must prepare for the next phase."
He gestured toward one of the assistant coaches, who stepped forward holding a clipboard.
"The preseason schedule has arrived."
Immediately the players became more attentive.
Because preseason friendlies meant something important.
Actual matches.
Wenger continued speaking.
"These games will help us regain match rhythm before the competitive season begins."
The assistant coach began reading the schedule.
"First match."
"13 July 2017, againts Sydney FC."
He looked up briefly.
"At ANZ Stadium, in Sydney, Australia."
Walker blinked.
"Wait."
"We're going to Australia?"
Robertson grinned.
"Long flight."
Groans immediately spread across the squad.
The assistant coach continued.
"Second match."
"15 July 2017, againts the Western Sydney Wanderers."
"Also at ANZ Stadium, Sydney."
Walker shook his head.
"So we fly across the planet and play two games in the same stadium?"
"Correct," the assistant coach said calmly.
"Fantastic."
Laughter spread across the group.
But the schedule wasn't finished yet.
"Third match."
"19 July 2017, againts Bayern Munich."
Now several heads lifted.
Because that opponent carried serious weight.
"Location: Shanghai Stadium, Shanghai, China."
Walker whistled softly.
"Okay that's a big one."
Van Dijk nodded.
"Good test."
The assistant coach continued.
"Fourth match."
"22 July 2017, againts Chelsea."
Several players reacted immediately.
Even in preseason, that matchup meant something.
"Location: Beijing National Stadium, Beijing, China."
Walker raised his hands dramatically.
"Oh perfect."
"Rivalry match on another continent."
Robertson smirked.
"Still counts."
Finally the assistant coach finished the list.
"Then we return home."
"29 July 2017, againts Benfica."
"At Emirates Stadium, London, United Kingdom."
A few players nodded approvingly.
Home turf again.
"Then the final preseason match."
"30 July 2017, againts Sevilla."
"Also at Emirates Stadium."
The assistant coach lowered the clipboard.
"That concludes the preseason tour."
The players exchanged glances.
It was a busy schedule.
Australia.
China.
Then back to London.
Thousands of miles.
Six matches in just over two weeks.
Wenger stepped forward again.
"We will depart for Sydney in three days."
Immediately several players reacted.
Walker looked horrified.
"Three days?!"
Robertson laughed.
"Better pack your bags."
Wenger nodded calmly.
"Prepare your belongings."
"Travel equipment."
"Personal necessities."
"Everything you will require for the tour."
He looked across the group again.
"These matches are important."
"Not only for fitness."
"But for unity."
"For rhythm."
"For confidence."
He paused briefly.
Then added quietly.
"And for winning."
Several players smiled.
Because even friendly matches carried pride.
Francesco felt a familiar excitement building in his chest.
New stadiums.
New crowds.
New challenges.
Preseason tours always carried a strange energy.
Thousands of fans around the world watching their club arrive.
Young players trying to impress.
Veterans sharpening their form.
And somewhere inside those matches, the first glimpses of the new season would appear.
Wenger clapped his hands once.
"Alright."
"Back to work."
The squad groaned collectively.
Walker fell onto the grass again.
"No mercy."
Robertson grabbed his arm and pulled him up.
"Come on."
"Three days until Australia."
Walker sighed dramatically.
"Fine."
Francesco jogged back toward the training cones with the rest of the team.
The work continued.
Passing drills resumed.
Tactical positioning.
Quick finishing exercises.
All under the bright London sun.
The work continued.
Passing drills resumed.
Tactical positioning.
Quick finishing exercises.
All under the bright London sun.
The rest of the afternoon training session stretched on for nearly another hour.
It wasn't quite as brutal as the endurance running earlier that morning, but it still demanded sharp concentration from everyone on the pitch.
The coaches set up one final passing circuit across half the field.
Three-touch limit.
Quick rotations.
Constant movement.
If the ball slowed down, the drill stopped immediately.
"Faster!" one of the assistant coaches shouted.
"Think before you receive!"
The ball zipped from one player to another.
Mesut Özil played a one-touch pass into space for Serge Gnabry, who flicked it quickly toward N'Golo Kanté.
Kanté immediately redirected it with the outside of his boot toward Virgil van Dijk, who calmly switched the ball across the grid with a long pass.
On the opposite side Kyle Walker received the ball awkwardly and nearly tripped over it.
Robertson noticed immediately.
"Smooth," Andrew Robertson called out dryly.
Walker shot him a glare.
"Pitch is uneven."
Robertson raised an eyebrow.
"In a training drill?"
"Sabotage," Walker insisted.
The ball rotated back toward Francesco again.
He took a clean first touch and quickly played a through pass between two cones into Giroud's path.
Olivier Giroud nodded approvingly.
"Nice."
Giroud finished the sequence with a controlled shot into the mini goal.
"Goal."
"Still counts," Walker muttered.
The final drill ended shortly after.
Arsène Wenger watched the last few passes closely before lifting the whistle to his lips.
The long, clear sound carried across the training pitch.
Training was over.
Immediately the tension in the air disappeared.
Players slowed to a walk.
Some stretched their backs.
Others rolled their shoulders or shook out their legs.
A few simply dropped onto the grass again, staring at the sky like survivors of a long battle.
Walker lay flat on his back with both arms spread.
"I'm finished."
Robertson stepped over him.
"You said that this morning."
"I meant it more this time."
Van Dijk chuckled quietly.
Nearby Petr Čech removed his goalkeeper gloves and stretched his arms.
On the other side of the pitch David Ospina leaned against the goalpost for a moment catching his breath.
Sweat darkened nearly every shirt.
The London sun hung warm overhead.
But the mood across the training ground was calm now.
Satisfied.
Another hard day completed.
"Alright gentlemen," Wenger said from the sideline.
"Recovery."
Players began walking toward the building that housed the dressing rooms of the Arsenal F.C. training complex at London Colney Training Centre.
Boots clicked softly against the concrete walkway.
The familiar scent of grass, sweat, and warm summer air followed them inside.
The dressing room buzzed with the comfortable chaos that always followed training.
Bags opened.
Boots tossed into lockers.
Water bottles emptied.
Walker collapsed onto the wooden bench again.
"I am never running again."
Robertson walked past him toward his locker.
"You'll say that tomorrow too."
Giroud removed his shirt and tossed it into a laundry basket.
"Tomorrow we run again."
Walker groaned loudly.
"Cruel."
Francesco sat down on the bench and began unlacing his boots.
His legs still hummed with that familiar post-training fatigue.
Not pain.
Just the heavy, warm exhaustion that came after a good session.
Across the room Van Dijk wrapped a towel around his shoulders.
"Massage room?" he asked.
Kanté nodded politely.
"Yes."
Several players headed in that direction.
The recovery staff had already prepared the treatment area.
Ice baths.
Massage tables.
Compression equipment.
Preseason was intense, and recovery was just as important as training.
Giroud walked past Francesco toward the showers.
"You coming?"
"In a minute," Francesco replied.
He finished removing his boots, then stood and stretched his back before grabbing a towel.
Soon the showers filled with the familiar sound of running water and relaxed conversation.
Steam slowly filled the tiled room.
Walker leaned against the wall under the hot water.
"This is the best part of football."
Robertson shook his head.
"Not the goals?"
"No."
"The shower."
Giroud laughed.
"You are unbelievable."
The mood was light.
Training always brought the team closer together in strange ways.
Shared exhaustion.
Shared effort.
Shared laughter.
After several minutes Francesco finished rinsing the sweat and grass from his hair and shoulders.
The hot water helped relax the muscles in his back and legs.
For a moment he simply stood there letting the tension wash away.
Because tomorrow…
They would do it all again.
Eventually he stepped out of the shower area, wrapping a towel around his waist before heading back toward the lockers.
He dried his hair quickly and pulled on a clean training shirt.
That was when one of the assistant staff members appeared in the doorway.
"Francesco."
Francesco looked up.
"Yes?"
"Boss wants to see you."
He blinked once.
"Now?"
The staff member nodded.
"In his office."
Walker overheard immediately.
"Oooooh."
Robertson glanced over.
"What did you do?"
Francesco rolled his eyes.
"Nothing."
Walker leaned forward with a dramatic whisper.
"Transfer request denied."
Giroud smirked.
"Or promotion."
Van Dijk simply nodded toward the hallway.
"Go."
Francesco grabbed a pair of training pants and slipped them on before heading toward the corridor.
The hallway of the training complex was quiet compared to the noisy dressing room.
Soft carpet.
Framed photographs of famous Arsenal moments lined the walls.
Historic victories.
Legendary players.
The long history of the club.
Francesco walked past them until he reached a familiar wooden door.
He knocked twice.
"Come in."
The calm voice inside was unmistakable.
Francesco opened the door.
Inside, Arsène Wenger sat behind his desk, reading through a stack of papers.
The office smelled faintly of coffee and fresh paper.
Large windows overlooked the training pitch outside.
"Ah, Francesco," Wenger said gently.
"Close the door."
Francesco stepped inside and shut it behind him.
"You wanted to see me?"
Wenger gestured toward the chair across the desk.
"Please."
"Sit."
Francesco pulled the chair slightly closer and sat down.
Wenger folded his hands on the desk and studied him for a moment.
There was always something thoughtful in Wenger's eyes.
He didn't rush conversations.
He let them unfold naturally.
"You trained well today," Wenger said.
"Thank you."
"And this week also."
Francesco nodded slightly.
The manager leaned back in his chair.
"I will come directly to the point."
Francesco waited.
Wenger continued.
"I want your opinion."
That caught him slightly off guard.
"My opinion?"
"Yes."
Wenger tapped a finger lightly against the desk.
"About players."
Francesco remained silent, listening.
"Specifically," Wenger continued, "goalkeepers."
He leaned forward slightly.
"You may have noticed something during training the last few days."
Francesco already understood what he meant.
Still, he waited.
Wenger spoke calmly.
"Petr Čech and David Ospina."
He paused briefly.
"Their performances."
Francesco nodded slowly.
Wenger continued.
"They are experienced professionals."
"Very good professionals."
"But I observe closely."
"And during these sessions…"
He chose his words carefully.
"They are not quite at the same level as last season."
Francesco thought back to the training drills earlier.
The reaction saves.
The scrimmage.
The small moments where Ospina had hesitated.
Where Čech had moved a fraction slower than before.
Not terrible.
But noticeable.
Especially to someone like Wenger.
"Particularly Ospina," Wenger added quietly.
"He has struggled more."
Francesco remained silent for a few seconds.
Wenger studied him.
"That is why I ask you something."
Francesco lifted his head slightly.
"Do you have any players you would recommend?"
The question hung in the air.
Not a demand.
Just curiosity.
Wenger trusted the football instincts of his players.
Especially those who saw the game clearly.
Francesco leaned back slightly in the chair and thought.
The room stayed quiet except for the faint sounds of activity outside the office.
Finally he spoke.
"I have a few."
Wenger's eyebrow lifted slightly.
"Oh?"
Francesco nodded.
"One in particular."
"Go on."
Francesco thought carefully about how to explain.
"His name is David Raya."
Wenger listened attentively.
"He plays for Blackburn Rovers."
Wenger nodded faintly.
"Yes… I know the club."
Francesco continued.
"He's young."
"Only twenty-one."
"But he's already their main goalkeeper."
Wenger's expression grew more thoughtful.
"Interesting."
Francesco leaned forward slightly now.
"I watched a few of their matches last season."
"He's quick."
"Good reflexes."
"And comfortable with the ball at his feet."
Wenger tapped his fingers lightly on the desk.
"Ball distribution?"
"Very good," Francesco said.
"Especially for his age."
Wenger remained quiet for a moment.
Francesco continued.
"I'm not saying he replaces Čech right away."
He shook his head slightly.
"But…"
He paused.
"…we could train him."
"For the future."
Wenger nodded slowly.
Francesco continued.
"Because Čech…"
He hesitated respectfully.
"…he's still very good."
"But he's getting older."
Wenger smiled faintly.
"That is the nature of football."
Francesco nodded.
"So someone young like Raya could learn."
"Develop."
"Prepare."
Silence filled the office again for a few seconds.
Wenger leaned back in his chair once more, thinking carefully.
Then he nodded slowly.
"Hmm."
"David Raya."
He repeated the name quietly.
Finally he looked back at Francesco.
"That is a very interesting suggestion."
Francesco shrugged slightly.
"Just an idea."
Wenger smiled.
"No."
"It is more than that."
He stood up and walked toward the window, looking out across the training ground where the players had trained earlier that day.
Then he turned back.
"You see the game clearly."
Francesco said nothing.
Wenger nodded once more.
"I will have our scouts take a closer look."
He returned to his desk.
"And perhaps…"
He added thoughtfully.
"…you have helped us prepare for the future."
For a few seconds after that, the office stayed quiet.
The kind of quiet that wasn't awkward.
Just thoughtful.
Through the large windows behind the desk, the late afternoon sun spread across the training pitch at the London Colney Training Centre. Groundskeepers had already started moving equipment back toward the storage area. Cones were being stacked. Small training goals carried off the grass.
The same pitch that had been full of shouting and movement earlier now looked calm again.
Arsène Wenger remained standing near the window for a moment, his hands resting lightly behind his back.
"Football," he said quietly, almost to himself, "is always about the next step."
Francesco stayed seated, listening.
Wenger turned slightly.
"When a player is young, the focus is development."
He gestured lightly.
"Technique. Confidence. Understanding the game."
Then he continued.
"When he reaches his peak, the focus becomes performance. Consistency. Responsibility."
His eyes moved toward Francesco.
"And when he becomes experienced…"
He paused.
"…the focus shifts again."
Francesco tilted his head slightly.
"To what?"
Wenger smiled faintly.
"To seeing the game beyond yourself."
He walked back toward the desk and sat down again.
"You notice details."
"Players."
"Tactical weaknesses."
"Future possibilities."
Francesco leaned back slightly in his chair.
"I just watch football."
"Yes," Wenger replied calmly.
"That is exactly the point."
Another moment of silence followed.
Then Wenger's tone softened.
"Tell me something else."
Francesco raised an eyebrow.
"About football?"
Wenger shook his head.
"No."
A small smile appeared.
"About life."
Francesco blinked once, slightly surprised.
Wenger folded his hands again.
"I hear things from the players," he said casually.
Francesco narrowed his eyes slightly.
"That sounds dangerous."
Wenger chuckled softly.
"They talk."
He tilted his head.
"About you."
Francesco leaned back further in the chair.
"That's worse."
Wenger smiled.
"I hear you have someone important in your life."
Francesco exhaled quietly.
Of course the team knew.
Football dressing rooms were like that.
Nothing stayed private for long.
"Yeah," he said simply.
Wenger nodded.
"Her name is Leah, yes?"
Francesco's eyebrows lifted slightly.
"Word travels fast."
"It always does."
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah. Leah."
Wenger studied him for a moment.
"Is she in London?"
"Yes."
"And she supports you?"
Francesco didn't even hesitate.
"Always."
The answer came naturally.
Wenger nodded approvingly.
"That is important."
He leaned back in his chair again.
"Football careers are strange."
Francesco listened.
"You travel constantly."
"You live under pressure."
"Your performance is judged every weekend."
He gestured lightly toward the window again.
"Sometimes the outside world sees the player, but not the person."
Francesco nodded slowly.
Wenger continued.
"That is why having stability in your personal life matters."
He paused.
"Someone who reminds you who you are."
Francesco gave a small half-smile.
"She does that."
Wenger smiled back.
"Good."
Then he added, with a small hint of humor,
"And I hear you have a dog as well."
Francesco laughed quietly.
"Cheddar."
"Cheddar," Wenger repeated.
"That is a very serious name."
"He's not a serious dog."
Wenger chuckled.
"Sometimes animals are better companions than people."
Francesco shrugged.
"He's always happy when I come home."
"Exactly."
The manager nodded once more.
"You must enjoy these moments when you can."
He leaned forward slightly again.
"Because in three days…"
"…we travel halfway across the world."
Francesco smiled.
"Australia."
"Yes."
"The beginning of preseason tour."
Wenger stood up once again.
"That will be demanding."
"Flights."
"Matches."
"Media."
"Fans."
"But also exciting."
Francesco nodded.
"I'm looking forward to it."
Wenger extended his hand.
"And I am looking forward to seeing how this team develops."
Francesco stood up and shook his hand.
"Thank you for the suggestion," Wenger added.
Francesco shrugged.
"No problem."
"Still," Wenger said calmly, "good ideas are always welcome."
Francesco stepped toward the door.
Then paused.
"Boss?"
Wenger looked up.
"Yes?"
"If the scouts actually bring him in…"
"David Raya?"
"Yeah."
Francesco smirked slightly.
"Just remember I recommended him first."
Wenger laughed softly.
"I will note it in the records."
Francesco nodded.
"Good."
Then he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.
The sound of conversation hit him immediately again as he returned toward the dressing room.
Walker's voice was the loudest, as usual.
"…I'm telling you, kangaroos are dangerous."
Robertson's voice followed.
"You've never even seen one."
"I saw a documentary!"
Francesco stepped inside.
Walker immediately pointed at him.
"There he is!"
Robertson leaned back on the bench.
"So?"
Francesco grabbed his bag.
"So what?"
"What did the boss want?"
Francesco shrugged.
"Football stuff."
Walker narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"That's boring."
Van Dijk, sitting calmly near his locker, looked up briefly.
"Everything with you must involve drama."
Walker pointed dramatically.
"Correct."
Giroud laughed from across the room.
"Did he give you extra running?"
"No."
"Transfer list?"
"No."
Robertson smirked.
"Secret mission?"
Francesco zipped his bag.
"Yes."
Walker leaned forward eagerly.
"What mission?"
Francesco slung the bag over his shoulder.
"Not telling."
Walker collapsed backward again.
"Unbelievable."
Kanté smiled quietly from his seat.
The atmosphere remained relaxed.
Most of the players were nearly finished getting dressed now.
Van Dijk stood up.
"You leaving?"
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
"See you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," Van Dijk replied.
Francesco walked toward the exit.
Walker shouted behind him.
"Bring sunscreen for Australia!"
Robertson added,
"And a leash for the kangaroos!"
Francesco raised a hand without turning around.
"Idiots."
But he was smiling.
Outside, the evening air had cooled slightly.
The parking lot at the London Colney Training Centre was quieter now.
A few staff cars remained.
Some players were still inside the building finishing recovery sessions.
Francesco walked toward his car.
The black BMW X5 waited where he had parked it earlier that morning.
He tossed his bag into the passenger seat and climbed in.
For a moment he just sat there.
Hands resting on the steering wheel.
The exhaustion of training still sat comfortably in his muscles.
Not painful.
Just the good kind of tired.
Then he started the engine.
The drive back toward Richmond was peaceful.
Late afternoon light painted the London roads in warm gold.
Traffic moved steadily.
Music played softly through the speakers.
And gradually, the intensity of the training day faded away.
Because he knew what waited at home.
When he pulled into the driveway of his mansion in Richmond, the first thing he noticed was movement inside the front window.
The door opened before he even reached it.
Leah stood there.
Smiling.
"Hey."
Francesco stepped inside and dropped his bag near the wall.
"Hey."
And then.
A blur of fur sprinted across the floor.
Cheddar.
The dog skidded slightly on the polished floor before jumping toward him.
"Whoa!"
Francesco crouched down just in time as Cheddar nearly knocked into him.
"Alright, alright!"
The dog's tail wagged like a helicopter.
Leah laughed.
"He's been waiting all day."
Francesco scratched behind Cheddar's ears.
"Yeah?"
Cheddar barked happily.
Leah crossed her arms with a smile.
"I think he likes you more than me."
Francesco stood up.
"Impossible."
She stepped closer.
"How was training?"
"Hard."
"Good."
She nodded.
"Always is during preseason."
Francesco leaned down and kissed her briefly.
"Boss called me into his office."
Leah raised an eyebrow.
"That sounds serious."
"Not really."
"What did he want?"
Francesco shrugged.
"Opinion on goalkeepers."
She blinked.
"Wait… the manager asked you?"
"Yeah."
"That's actually kind of a big deal."
Francesco smiled slightly.
"Maybe, but it would happen since I told him about Kante and Van Dijk."
Cheddar barked again.
Leah laughed.
"Okay, okay."
She nudged Francesco toward the kitchen.
"Come on."
"Dinner?"
"Yes."
"And then you can tell me everything."
He nodded.
"Deal."
Morning sunlight poured across the parking lot at the London Colney Training Centre.
Suitcases rolled across pavement.
Players gathered in small groups.
Some wearing headphones.
Others laughing or chatting.
The preseason tour had officially begun.
Large travel bags were stacked neatly near the team bus.
The players of Arsenal F.C. stood together wearing matching travel gear.
Staff members moved around organizing luggage.
A photographer stepped forward holding a large camera.
"Alright everyone!" he called out.
"Team photo first!"
Immediately the players groaned jokingly.
Walker sighed dramatically.
"Photos at this hour should be illegal."
Robertson shoved him lightly.
"Stand still."
The photographer pointed toward the stairs outside the building.
"Players in the front row."
"Coaching staff behind."
Wenger stepped into position calmly.
Francesco stood beside Van Dijk.
Walker squeezed in next to Robertson.
"Stop moving," the photographer warned.
Walker froze.
"Like this?"
"Perfect."
The camera clicked.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
"Alright!"
"Good!"
The photographer lowered the camera.
"Tour photo done."
Players immediately relaxed again.
Walker stretched his arms.
"Finally."
Robertson shook his head.
"You did nothing."
"Standing is exhausting."
The luggage was loaded into the bus shortly afterward.
Players climbed aboard.
Francesco took a seat near the middle beside Van Dijk.
Walker and Robertson sat across the aisle arguing about Australian wildlife again.
The bus engine started.
Slowly it rolled away from the training ground.
Destination.
The airport.
After about an hour of driving through London traffic, the team bus finally pulled into the private departure area at the airport.
The players stepped off the bus one by one.
Airport staff were already waiting to assist with luggage.
Inside the terminal everything moved smoothly.
Passports checked.
Luggage processed.
Security cleared quickly thanks to the club's travel arrangements.
Walker looked around.
"This is too organized."
Robertson laughed.
"You prefer chaos?"
"Yes."
Soon the group moved toward the boarding gate.
Waiting outside the runway stood their aircraft.
A sleek white jet bearing the logo of Emirates.
Walker whistled.
"Now that is a plane."
Francesco looked up at it.
The preseason tour was beginning for real now.
The players walked toward the boarding stairs.
At the bottom of the steps stood several Emirates stewardesses in elegant uniforms.
They greeted each player warmly.
"Welcome aboard."
"Good morning."
"Have a pleasant flight."
As the squad gathered on the stairs, the club photographer appeared again.
"Hold on!"
Players groaned again.
Walker threw his hands up.
"Another one?!"
"Yes!"
The photographer pointed.
"Everyone look here!"
The players stood on the passenger boarding stairs beside the smiling Emirates stewardesses.
Wenger stood near the center.
The team gathered around him.
The camera flashed.
Another official moment captured.
The beginning of a long journey.
Australia awaited.
And with it, the first real steps toward a brand new season.
______________________________________________
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