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!)
...
And with it, the first real steps toward a brand new season.
The camera flash faded.
For a brief moment the players of Arsenal simply stood there on the passenger boarding stairs beside the aircraft, blinking slightly in the bright sunlight.
Another preseason photo taken.
Another small moment captured for the club archives.
"Alright, alright," the photographer finally called out with a satisfied wave of his hand. "You're free."
That was all the permission the squad needed.
Immediately the players relaxed again, breaking formation and stepping up the boarding stairs toward the open aircraft door.
The elegant white fuselage of the plane gleamed under the morning light, the red and gold logo of Emirates stretching across the side like a banner.
Kyle Walker glanced up at it again as he climbed the steps.
"Still can't believe this thing is taking us to Australia."
Andrew Robertson walked behind him.
"You're just now realizing how far Australia is?"
Walker shook his head.
"Mate, that's basically the other side of the planet."
Robertson smirked.
"Exactly."
Ahead of them, several Emirates stewardesses stood near the entrance, greeting each player as they stepped inside.
"Welcome aboard."
"Good morning."
"Please enjoy your flight."
Their voices were calm, professional, and warm.
Francesco stepped through the aircraft doorway, briefly ducking his head out of habit even though the cabin ceiling was high.
The inside of the plane was spacious and bright.
Rows of comfortable seats stretched down the cabin, each one equipped with personal screens, adjustable leg rests, and small pillows already placed neatly against the headrests.
A few players paused to glance around.
Walker whistled quietly.
"Oh this is nice."
Robertson glanced around too.
"Better than economy."
Walker turned to him.
"You've flown economy before?"
Robertson shrugged.
"I'm Scottish."
That made Walker laugh.
Behind them, Virgil van Dijk stepped aboard with his usual calm expression, nodding politely to the flight attendants before moving down the aisle.
Further ahead, Olivier Giroud was already placing his bag in the overhead compartment.
"Careful with that," Giroud joked as Walker lifted his backpack above his head.
"My entire life is in this bag."
Walker shoved it inside.
"Relax. I packed snacks."
"You packed snacks?" Robertson asked.
Walker looked offended.
"Of course."
"Twenty-one hour flight!"
"That's survival."
Several players were already settling into their seats.
Some immediately pulling out headphones.
Others stretching their legs out comfortably.
Francesco moved down the aisle until he found his assigned seat near the middle section of the aircraft.
Beside him sat N'Golo Kanté, who was already fastening his seatbelt with quiet efficiency.
"Morning," Kanté said politely.
"Morning."
Francesco placed his small bag under the seat and leaned back slightly, taking in the surroundings.
It still felt a little surreal sometimes.
Professional footballers traveling across the world like this.
Private flights.
Club tours.
Thousands of fans waiting on the other side of the globe.
But that was modern football.
Global.
Fast.
Relentless.
Across the aisle, Walker leaned back dramatically in his seat.
"If I disappear during this flight," he announced to nobody in particular, "it's because I got lost in the snack storage."
Robertson shook his head.
"You're unbelievable."
Soon the last of the players boarded.
The aircraft doors closed with a quiet mechanical thud.
Outside the windows, airport staff moved away from the plane as ground vehicles repositioned.
Inside the cabin, the flight attendants began their final preparations.
One of them stepped forward toward the front of the cabin.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she said gently over the intercom.
"Welcome aboard Emirates."
"We are preparing for departure to Sydney."
The words alone made several players shift in their seats.
Sydney.
Australia.
That was a long way from London.
"Flight time today will be approximately twenty-one hours and thirty minutes."
Walker leaned forward immediately.
"Twenty-one hours?!"
Robertson grinned.
"You're only realizing that now?"
Walker leaned back dramatically again.
"This is a test of human endurance."
Van Dijk glanced over calmly.
"You survived preseason running."
Walker pointed at him.
"That was easier."
The aircraft slowly began to move.
Outside the window, the runway stretched wide under the morning sky.
Francesco glanced out as the massive engines hummed louder beneath the wings.
There was always something strangely exciting about takeoff.
Even after dozens of flights.
Maybe it was the sense of leaving something behind.
Or heading toward something unknown.
Beside him Kanté quietly watched the safety demonstration being presented by the flight attendants.
Professional as always.
The aircraft turned slowly onto the runway.
Then paused.
The engines roared louder.
The plane began accelerating.
Faster.
Faster.
The force pressed gently into their seats.
Walker gripped the armrest dramatically.
"Here we go."
Robertson laughed.
"You're acting like it's your first flight."
The ground blurred past the windows.
Then suddenly.
Lift.
The aircraft rose smoothly into the sky.
London shrank below them.
Buildings becoming smaller.
Roads turning into thin grey lines.
Clouds slowly swallowing the view.
And just like that, the journey had begun.
The first few hours of the flight passed quickly.
The cabin lights dimmed slightly as the plane settled into cruising altitude.
Seatbelts loosened.
People stretched their legs.
The flight attendants began moving up and down the aisle offering drinks.
Francesco leaned back comfortably in his seat.
The small entertainment screen in front of him flickered on.
A menu of movies, series, and music appeared.
Hundreds of options.
Walker leaned across the aisle.
"Francesco."
"What?"
"What are you watching?"
"I haven't picked yet."
Walker nodded approvingly.
"Good."
"Because I'm picking for you."
Robertson sighed.
"Don't let him choose."
Walker ignored him.
"Action movie."
"Something with explosions."
Francesco smirked.
"I'll think about it."
Meanwhile Kanté quietly selected a documentary on his screen.
No surprise there.
The first meal service began not long after.
Flight attendants rolled carts down the aisle.
"Would you like something to eat?"
Francesco looked up as one of the stewardesses stopped beside him.
"Yes, please."
She smiled politely.
"We have several options today."
She listed them calmly.
"Grilled chicken with rice."
"Pasta with tomato basil sauce."
"Or a vegetarian dish."
Francesco thought for a moment.
"Chicken, please."
"Of course."
She handed him the tray carefully.
Warm food.
Bread roll.
Salad.
Dessert.
Footballers burned thousands of calories during training, so eating well during travel was important.
Across the aisle, Walker stared at his tray approvingly.
"This is better than airport food."
Robertson nodded.
"Everything is better than airport food."
Van Dijk sat quietly a few rows ahead, eating calmly while watching something on his screen.
Giroud was speaking softly with one of the coaches nearby.
The cabin had settled into a relaxed rhythm.
Eating.
Watching movies.
Talking quietly.
Twenty-one hours was a long flight.
Everyone handled it differently.
Some players tried to sleep early.
Others watched films for hours.
Some simply talked.
Francesco finished his meal slowly, then placed the tray aside.
The stewardess returned a few minutes later to collect it.
"Would you like anything else?"
Francesco thought for a moment.
"Could I get a blanket?"
"Of course."
She smiled again and returned shortly afterward with a soft airline blanket.
"Here you are."
"Thank you."
"And anything to drink?"
"Water would be great."
She handed him a bottle.
Then continued down the aisle helping other passengers.
Francesco unfolded the blanket and draped it lightly across his legs.
The cabin temperature had cooled slightly during the flight.
Across the aisle Walker had already fallen into movie mode.
Explosions flashed across his screen.
Robertson leaned over to glance.
"Of course."
Walker grinned.
"Quality cinema."
Francesco finally scrolled through the entertainment menu.
After a few seconds he selected a film.
The screen dimmed.
The opening music began.
He leaned his head back into the seat.
Blanket pulled up slightly.
The soft hum of the aircraft engines filled the background.
Outside the window.
Only sky.
Hours passed slowly but comfortably.
Players occasionally stood to stretch their legs.
Some walked to the back of the plane to talk or grab snacks.
Others drifted in and out of sleep.
At one point Walker stood in the aisle stretching dramatically.
"My legs have forgotten how to be legs."
Robertson looked up from his screen.
"You've been sitting for two hours."
Walker pointed.
"Exactly."
Van Dijk walked past them calmly on his way to stretch near the rear of the cabin.
"Drink water," he advised.
Walker nodded.
"Good advice."
Later, the cabin lights dimmed further.
Some players began trying to sleep.
Time zones blurred together during long flights like this.
Francesco finished his movie and rubbed his eyes briefly.
Twenty-one hours was still a long journey.
But it was part of the job.
Part of the adventure.
Part of football's strange global life.
He adjusted the blanket slightly.
Took another sip of water.
Francesco leaned back deeper into his seat, the soft airline blanket resting loosely across his legs as the quiet hum of the engines filled the cabin.
Twenty-one hours.
That was the reality of the journey ahead.
For a while he simply watched the movie he had chosen, letting the story unfold across the screen while the plane carved its long path through the sky somewhere far above continents and oceans.
The cabin had settled into a rhythm.
A quiet one.
Seat lights glowing softly.
Screens flickering with different films and shows.
Occasional footsteps in the aisle as someone stood to stretch or visit the small snack area near the back of the plane.
The first hours of a long flight always passed quickly.
People were still awake.
Still talking.
Still shifting around.
Across the aisle, Kyle Walker had already finished his first action movie and immediately started another one.
Robertson glanced over at his screen again and sighed.
"Another explosion?"
Walker nodded seriously.
"Yes."
"You need variety."
"I have variety."
Walker pointed at the screen.
"This time the explosions are bigger."
Robertson shook his head and went back to watching his own film.
A few rows ahead, Virgil van Dijk sat calmly with headphones on, watching something that looked more like a documentary than an action film.
Nearby, Olivier Giroud was chatting quietly with one of the assistant coaches while slowly eating a dessert from the earlier meal.
Beside Francesco, N'Golo Kanté was deeply focused on his screen, still watching the documentary he had chosen earlier.
Typical Kanté.
Quiet.
Focused.
Content.
Francesco glanced back toward his own screen.
The movie was nearing its final act now.
He finished it without really realizing how much time had passed.
When the end credits finally rolled, he exhaled softly and rubbed his eyes.
The cabin had grown darker now.
Many of the overhead lights had been dimmed.
Some players were already sleeping.
Blankets pulled up.
Heads resting against the window or seat cushions.
Others still sat awake quietly, watching movies or scrolling through music.
Long-haul flights always blurred time.
Hours stopped feeling like hours.
Everything just became part of the same long stretch of air travel.
Francesco stretched his legs slightly under the blanket and took another sip of water.
The cool liquid helped wake him just enough to realize something else.
He was tired.
Not just the kind of tired that came after training.
The deeper kind.
The kind that came when your body knew you had hours of travel ahead and nothing else to do.
He glanced once more through the entertainment menu on the screen.
Another movie maybe?
Or a series?
But the thought of staring at the screen for another two hours didn't sound appealing anymore.
Instead he turned the screen off.
The small display went dark.
The only light now came from the soft glow of the cabin lamps and the occasional flicker from other screens around him.
Francesco adjusted the blanket slightly higher over his legs and leaned his head back against the seat.
The hum of the aircraft engines filled the background like a steady, distant ocean.
There was something strangely calming about it.
Across the aisle Walker noticed him settling in.
"Sleeping?"
Francesco nodded slightly.
"Yeah."
Walker glanced at the time on his screen.
"We still have like… eighteen hours."
"Exactly," Francesco muttered.
"Smart."
Robertson leaned forward.
"Good idea."
Walker nodded thoughtfully.
"Maybe I should sleep too."
Robertson stared at him.
"You just started another movie."
Walker looked at his screen.
The film had barely begun.
He paused it reluctantly.
"Fine."
"Sleep first."
"Explosions later."
Francesco smiled faintly at the conversation but his eyes were already beginning to feel heavy.
He shifted slightly in the seat to find a comfortable position.
The blanket warmed his legs.
The cabin air stayed cool.
And gradually, slowly, his mind began to drift.
Football training.
The conversation with Arsène Wenger earlier that week.
Leah.
Cheddar running across the polished floor of the house.
All of it blurred together into soft thoughts that slowly faded.
Then eventually.
Sleep.
Hours passed.
Many hours.
The plane crossed entire time zones while the passengers inside existed in their own strange pocket of time.
At some point during the night cycle, the flight attendants moved quietly through the aisles again offering water and small snacks.
Some players woke briefly.
Others barely stirred.
Walker woke at one point, glanced at the time, and immediately went back to sleep.
Robertson snored quietly for a while before adjusting his seat.
Kanté remained peacefully asleep beside Francesco, his head resting lightly against the side cushion.
Outside the windows, darkness stretched endlessly.
The aircraft moved steadily forward.
Over oceans.
Over continents.
Toward Australia.
Eventually the cabin lights began to brighten slowly.
A simulated sunrise.
One of the tricks airlines used to help passengers adjust to time zones.
Soft light spread across the rows of seats.
Some players stirred.
Others stretched.
A few yawned loudly.
Francesco slowly opened his eyes.
For a moment he didn't move.
Just blinking as his mind caught up with reality again.
Plane.
Flight.
Tour.
Australia.
He sat up slightly and glanced at the small flight map on the screen.
The aircraft icon blinked over the eastern coast of Australia.
Not far now.
A flight attendant walked down the aisle again.
"Good morning," she said gently to the waking passengers.
"Breakfast will be served shortly."
Walker sat up suddenly across the aisle, hair slightly messy.
"What time is it?"
Robertson squinted at the screen.
"Morning."
Walker frowned.
"What day?"
Robertson shrugged.
"No idea."
That made Francesco laugh quietly.
Long flights did that to people.
He stretched his arms slowly above his head, feeling the stiffness that came from sitting too long.
But compared to economy travel, these seats made a huge difference.
Still.
Twenty-one hours was still twenty-one hours.
Soon the breakfast trays arrived.
Eggs.
Fruit.
Toast.
Coffee.
The smell of food woke up the remaining sleepy players.
Giroud stretched his arms and smiled.
"Now that is welcome."
Van Dijk accepted his coffee calmly.
Walker looked at his tray with approval.
"I forgive the flight."
Robertson shook his head.
"You were never angry at the flight."
Walker shrugged.
"Fair."
Francesco ate quietly while watching the flight map again.
The aircraft was descending gradually now.
Sydney approaching.
Outside the window, clouds began to thin.
Below them the blue of the ocean stretched endlessly.
Then gradually.
Land.
The coastline of Australia appeared beneath the aircraft.
Long beaches.
Waves rolling onto the shore.
Cities spreading inland.
Passengers began adjusting their seats again.
Seatbelts clicked.
The captain's voice came over the intercom.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have begun our descent into Sydney."
"We should be landing shortly at Sydney Airport."
"We hope you have enjoyed your flight with Emirates."
Walker leaned forward immediately to look out the window.
"Whoa."
Robertson leaned slightly across the aisle.
"First time in Australia?"
Walker nodded.
"Yeah."
Van Dijk looked outside calmly.
Beautiful coastline stretched beneath them.
Bright sunlight reflected off the water.
The aircraft lowered through the clouds.
The city of Sydney slowly grew larger beneath them.
Buildings.
Highways.
The harbor glimmering in the distance.
Francesco watched quietly.
There was always a certain moment during flights like this when the reality finally settled in.
New country.
New atmosphere.
New fans.
Preseason was officially beginning now.
The plane continued descending.
Closer.
Closer.
Runway ahead.
The wheels touched down with a firm but smooth bump.
A small vibration passed through the cabin.
Then the engines roared slightly as the plane slowed along the runway.
Walker raised both arms dramatically.
"We survived!"
Robertson shook his head.
"You're ridiculous."
Passengers began unfastening seatbelts once the plane stopped.
The aircraft slowly taxied toward the terminal.
Outside, airport vehicles moved across the tarmac.
Francesco stretched again as the plane came to a final stop.
Twenty-one and a half hours of travel finally complete.
The seatbelt sign turned off.
Immediately everyone began standing up and reaching for overhead luggage.
Walker struggled briefly with his backpack.
"Who packed this?"
Robertson stared at him.
"You."
"Right."
Francesco grabbed his small carry-on bag and waited patiently in the aisle.
Eventually the aircraft doors opened.
Warm Australian air flowed gently into the cabin.
Players began stepping off the plane one by one.
"Welcome to Sydney," one of the staff members said as they exited.
Francesco stepped onto the boarding stairs and paused briefly.
The sunlight felt different here.
Brighter.
Warmer.
Australia.
After descending the stairs, the squad followed the airport staff toward the private terminal entrance.
Inside, everything moved efficiently thanks to the club's travel arrangements.
Passports checked.
Security cleared.
Bags processed.
Soon the players gathered near the luggage carousel where their larger suitcases began appearing one by one.
Walker grabbed his bag.
"Finally."
Robertson grabbed his own.
"You complained the entire flight."
Walker nodded.
"Consistency."
Van Dijk lifted his suitcase easily and walked toward the exit.
Outside the terminal, the team bus was already waiting.
Large.
Comfortable.
The club logo displayed along the side.
The driver opened the luggage compartments while staff members loaded the suitcases.
Players climbed aboard one by one.
Some immediately collapsing into the seats again.
Long flights drained energy even from professional athletes.
Francesco sat near the middle beside Van Dijk again.
Walker dropped into the seat behind them.
"Hotel," he said dramatically.
"Bed."
Robertson leaned back beside him.
"Agreed."
The bus engine started.
Slowly it pulled away from the airport.
Driving into the bright streets of Sydney.
Palm trees lined the roads.
Blue sky stretched overhead.
Fans would be waiting soon.
Matches would follow.
Training.
Media.
Crowds.
But for now, just the quiet ride toward the hotel.
The team bus rolled steadily through the streets of Sydney, leaving the airport behind as the early afternoon sunlight painted the city in bright, warm tones.
Inside the bus, the mood was a mixture of quiet exhaustion and low-energy curiosity.
Twenty-one and a half hours on a plane did strange things to the human body.
Even professional athletes, people used to extreme physical demands weren't immune to jet lag.
Some players sat quietly staring out the windows.
Others leaned back with their eyes closed.
Walker had his head tilted against the seat but clearly wasn't asleep.
He just looked… confused.
"Alright," he said after a while.
Robertson glanced at him.
"What now?"
Walker rubbed his face slowly.
"My brain still thinks it's yesterday."
Robertson smirked.
"That's because it was yesterday."
Walker blinked.
"See, that's exactly the problem."
A few seats ahead, Francesco watched the city pass by outside the window.
Sydney was bright.
That was the first impression.
The sunlight here felt sharper than London's softer grey skies.
Palm trees lined parts of the road.
The ocean occasionally appeared between buildings in flashes of deep blue.
People walked along sidewalks in shorts and sunglasses.
It felt like summer.
Which, technically, it was.
Beside him, Virgil van Dijk leaned slightly forward in his seat, looking relaxed despite the long flight.
"Different atmosphere," he said quietly.
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
"Feels lighter."
Behind them Walker leaned forward between the seats.
"Does Australia have normal animals?"
Robertson stared at him.
"What does that even mean?"
Walker shrugged.
"You know. Normal animals."
"Kangaroos are normal here," Robertson replied.
Walker looked concerned.
"That's exactly what I'm worried about."
Van Dijk chuckled quietly.
Further ahead in the bus, Olivier Giroud sat talking calmly with one of the coaching staff while stretching his legs.
Nearby, N'Golo Kanté quietly scrolled through something on his phone.
Probably messages.
Maybe highlights.
Or maybe something completely unrelated to football.
Kanté had that ability to remain calm anywhere.
The bus continued moving deeper into the city.
Traffic was light.
Tourists walked along the streets.
Occasionally someone noticed the large bus with the Arsenal F.C. crest displayed on the side.
Phones came out immediately.
A few people waved.
Walker noticed one group pointing toward the bus.
"Fans already."
Robertson shrugged.
"That's football."
Francesco smiled faintly.
Football really was everywhere now.
Different continents.
Different cultures.
Same sport.
The bus turned onto a wider road lined with tall hotels.
Glass buildings reflecting sunlight.
Palm trees swaying gently in the breeze.
Finally the bus slowed.
Then turned into the entrance driveway of their hotel.
A large modern building rose in front of them.
Tall glass windows.
White stone exterior.
A long entrance canopy where staff members waited.
The bus rolled to a smooth stop.
Walker sat up immediately.
"Hotel."
Robertson stretched his arms.
"Finally."
Francesco grabbed his small carry-on bag and stood up slowly with the rest of the players.
The bus doors opened with a soft hydraulic hiss.
Warm air drifted inside.
One by one the players stepped down onto the pavement.
The sunlight felt bright after the darker cabin of the bus.
Francesco stepped down and took a slow breath.
The air smelled faintly like the ocean.
Not surprising.
Sydney's coastline wasn't far away.
Several members of the club's logistics staff were already waiting near the entrance.
They had arrived earlier on a different flight to prepare everything.
As the players approached the entrance, one of the staff members smiled and waved.
"Welcome to Australia, lads."
Walker nodded.
"Glad to be here."
Another staff member held a small table where several envelopes were neatly organized.
Inside each envelope.
Room keycards.
Names printed clearly.
One of the Arsenal staff stepped forward holding the stack.
"Alright guys," he said.
"We've got your rooms ready."
Players began forming a loose line.
Francesco stepped forward when his name was called.
"Francesco."
He accepted the envelope and opened it briefly.
Room number printed inside.
Keycard.
Small itinerary sheet.
Behind him Walker stepped up.
"Kyle Walker."
The staff member handed him his envelope.
Walker opened it.
"Good."
Robertson grabbed his own next.
"Hope I'm not next to him."
Walker looked offended.
"You love me."
Robertson nodded.
"That's the problem."
Giroud accepted his key with a polite nod.
Van Dijk took his calmly.
Kanté smiled quietly as he received his.
Within a few minutes every player had their keycard.
The luggage from the bus had already been unloaded and lined up near the entrance.
Hotel staff quickly began moving the bags inside.
Before everyone disappeared toward the elevators, a familiar voice called out calmly.
"Gentlemen."
The players turned.
Arsène Wenger stood near the entrance doors with his hands lightly clasped behind his back.
Even after a twenty-hour journey he still looked composed.
That was classic Wenger.
Calm.
Measured.
Professional.
The players gathered loosely around him.
Some leaning slightly against their luggage.
Others stretching tired legs.
Wenger gave them a small understanding smile.
"I know many of you are tired."
Walker nodded dramatically.
"Extremely."
Robertson elbowed him lightly.
"Quiet."
Wenger continued calmly.
"The travel has been long."
"Twenty-one hours is never easy."
He glanced around the group briefly.
"But we must also remember why we are here."
The players listened quietly.
"This tour is important."
"For preparation."
"For connection with supporters."
"And for building our rhythm before the new season."
Francesco nodded slightly.
Preseason tours always carried that balance.
Training and marketing.
Performance and global presence.
Wenger raised a small sheet of paper.
"The itinerary is inside the envelope you received."
Several players glanced down at their envelopes.
Walker opened his again immediately.
"What's the plan, boss?"
Wenger spoke clearly.
"Today is simple."
He paused.
"You rest."
Several players nodded with relief.
Walker raised a hand like a student.
"Best plan I've heard all week."
Wenger smiled faintly.
"Yes."
"Your bodies must adjust to the time zone."
"Jet lag affects recovery and performance."
He gestured lightly toward the hotel entrance.
"So today you relax."
"Eat properly."
"Hydrate."
"Sleep if needed."
"But try not to sleep the entire afternoon."
That made a few players chuckle.
Walker muttered quietly.
"Too late."
Wenger pretended not to hear.
"Tomorrow morning," he continued, "we begin work."
The group focused again.
"Training will take place at the facilities of Western Sydney Wanderers."
A few players nodded.
They had heard about the facilities already.
Good pitches.
Professional environment.
Wenger continued.
"We have arranged a training session there tomorrow to begin preparation."
"For our first preseason match."
Francesco already knew the opponent but still waited.
Wenger said it clearly.
"Our opening match of the tour will be against Sydney FC."
Walker tilted his head.
"Home crowd for them then."
Robertson nodded.
"Good atmosphere."
Van Dijk crossed his arms slightly.
"Perfect test."
Wenger nodded.
"That is the idea."
He looked around the group again.
"We take preseason seriously."
"Fitness."
"Tactics."
"Understanding between players."
His eyes briefly met Francesco's.
"Especially with some of our newer players adjusting."
Francesco understood the implication.
Chemistry.
Timing.
Movement.
Those things required time together on the pitch.
Wenger clapped his hands softly once.
"So."
"Today you rest."
"Tomorrow we begin training."
"Then the match preparation begins."
He gave them one final calm nod.
"Enjoy your afternoon, gentlemen."
That was the dismissal.
Immediately the players relaxed again.
Walker stretched his arms wide.
"Bed."
Robertson laughed.
"You've said that twelve times."
Walker shrugged.
"Still true."
Van Dijk picked up his suitcase.
"See you later."
Giroud nodded politely to Wenger before heading toward the entrance.
Kanté walked quietly beside one of the physiotherapists, discussing something softly.
Francesco grabbed his luggage handle and started toward the hotel doors.
Inside, the lobby was cool and elegant.
Tall ceilings.
Marble floors.
Large windows letting sunlight pour into the space.
Several hotel staff members stood ready near the reception desk.
The Arsenal logistics team had already handled most of the check-in earlier.
So players simply walked through toward the elevators.
Walker leaned against the elevator wall while waiting.
"You know what's strange?"
Robertson sighed.
"What now?"
Walker pointed vaguely upward.
"The sun."
Robertson blinked.
"The sun?"
"It's… wrong."
Francesco smirked.
"You're jet-lagged."
Walker nodded.
"That's probably it."
The elevator doors opened.
Players stepped inside with luggage.
Floor numbers were pressed.
The doors closed.
And slowly the group began spreading out through the hotel floors.
Francesco eventually reached his floor and stepped out into the quiet hallway.
Soft carpet.
Muted lighting.
Peaceful.
After the constant noise of travel and movement, the quiet felt almost surreal.
He found his room number.
Took the keycard from the envelope.
A soft beep.
The door unlocked.
He stepped inside.
The room was spacious.
Large bed.
Wide windows overlooking the city.
A small sitting area.
Desk.
Television.
He placed his bag near the wall and walked toward the window.
Outside, Sydney stretched out beneath him.
Sunlight reflecting off distant water.
Cars moving slowly along wide streets.
Palm trees swaying.
He exhaled slowly.
New continent.
New preseason.
New challenges ahead.
But for now.
Just rest and recovery, as the quiet afternoon before the training began again tomorrow.
______________________________________________
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