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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
For the first time since the break-in happened, he actually meant it as he feel peace and safe.
The mansion stayed warm long after dinner ended.
Not just physically.
Emotionally.
That heavy emptiness which had haunted the house for the last two days finally felt pushed back by something stronger now. Familiar voices echoed through the rooms again. Plates stacked in the kitchen. Laughter drifted between conversations. Someone kept stealing biscuits from the tray near the coffee table and blaming Cheddar despite the fact the dog physically lacked thumbs.
Normal chaos.
Healing chaos.
Outside, rain still tapped softly against the windows while reporters remained camped stubbornly near the property gates beneath floodlights and umbrellas. Every so often camera flashes still flickered faintly through trees beyond the driveway.
But inside the mansion?
Inside finally felt like home again.
Cheddar had relocated directly into the center of the living room carpet after emotionally exhausting himself through an entire day of greeting relatives and accepting praise for his "heroic defensive contributions."
Mike was currently crouched beside the dog attempting to explain Arsenal's pressing structure like Cheddar might realistically understand tactical football.
"You see," Mike said seriously while pointing at imaginary spaces across the carpet, "if the midfield compresses high enough—"
Cheddar sneezed directly into his face.
Jacob nearly collapsed laughing from the sofa.
"That means your tactics are terrible."
Mike looked offended immediately.
"Or he disagrees philosophically."
"Emotionally disagrees," Francesco corrected automatically from near the kitchen doorway.
Leah physically covered her face with both hands.
"No. We were healing."
"It escaped."
Sarah pointed accusingly toward Mike.
"This is your fault too now."
Mike looked deeply proud of himself.
Francesco shook his head tiredly while carrying fresh drinks into the living room.
For the first time since the break-in, the tension in his shoulders actually loosened slightly hearing all of this.
Tiny things mattered.
People filling space mattered.
The television continued quietly in the background while post-match analysis from earlier Premier League fixtures rolled across the screen. Football had kept moving while their world temporarily stopped.
That part always felt strange.
No matter what happened personally, football never paused for long.
Jacob grabbed the remote eventually while stretching sideways across the sofa.
"What time's kick-off?"
Francesco glanced toward the clock.
"About fifteen minutes."
Immediately the room shifted slightly.
Not dramatically.
But enough.
Arsenal playing at the Emirates tonight in the Champions League.
Round four of the group stage against NK Maribor.
Normally Francesco would already be at the stadium hours earlier preparing with the squad.
Tape around wrists.
Music in headphones.
Match focus slowly sharpening inside the dressing room while Wenger delivered tactical instructions.
Instead he stood barefoot in his own living room wearing sweatpants while security guards patrolled outside because someone had broken into his house two nights earlier.
Life moved strangely sometimes.
Leah noticed the flicker of thought crossing his face immediately.
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
"You miss it."
Not really a question.
Francesco looked toward the television quietly for a moment before answering.
"A little."
Which honestly meant a lot.
Football had become part of his breathing pattern at this point. Matchdays structured his life emotionally and mentally. Missing a Champions League night at the Emirates felt unnatural.
Especially after the previous week he'd been having.
But Wenger hadn't even left room for discussion earlier that morning during another brief phone call.
"You are not playing," the manager had stated firmly.
"Boss, I'm fine."
"You fought burglars with a baseball bat forty-eight hours ago."
"That sentence keeps sounding fake."
"And yet it remains true."
Francesco had rubbed tiredly at his forehead.
"I can train tomorrow."
"We will discuss tomorrow tomorrow," Wenger replied calmly. "Tonight you rest and trust your teammates."
Classic Wenger.
Firm without raising his voice once.
So now instead of walking through the Emirates tunnel beneath Champions League music, Francesco found himself settling onto the sofa between Leah and Cheddar while both families prepared to watch the match together from the mansion.
Honestly?
Part of him appreciated it more than he expected.
Because being alone tonight probably would've been difficult.
Mike clapped his hands suddenly.
"Right. Match positions everyone."
"You say that like we're entering battle," Leah muttered.
"It's European football. Same thing emotionally."
Fair point honestly.
Soon the living room reorganized itself naturally into football-viewing formation.
Jacob immediately claimed the best angle toward the television.
David settled into the armchair nearest the fireplace with the focused expression of a man genuinely preparing to analyze tactical structures.
Amanda and Sarah occupied opposite ends of the larger sofa while continuing quiet conversation about whether footballers slept enough during busy schedules.
Mike somehow returned carrying snacks nobody saw him prepare.
And Francesco stayed near the center beside Leah while Cheddar climbed halfway across both their legs again despite definitely weighing too much for this strategy now.
"You're huge," Francesco informed the dog.
Cheddar ignored criticism heroically.
The broadcast finally switched live toward Emirates Stadium.
Floodlights illuminated the North London night beneath drifting rain while Champions League music echoed across packed stands.
The camera swept slowly over scarves, banners, and supporters filling the stadium.
And immediately something inside Francesco's chest tightened softly.
Home.
Even through television screens, the Emirates still felt like home.
Jacob pointed instantly.
"They've got your banner up."
Sure enough behind one goal, supporters already held several signs referencing the break-in and wishing Francesco well.
STAY STRONG FRANCESCO
ENGLAND'S FINEST
CHEERS CHEDDAR
That last one made Leah laugh immediately.
"Oh my God."
Mike looked delighted.
"The dog's famous now."
"He's becoming unbearable," Francesco muttered.
Cheddar wagged proudly anyway.
Then came the team lineups.
The screen displayed Arsenal's starting eleven beneath Champions League graphics.
David leaned forward slightly.
"Pretty strong team."
And it was.
Almost identical to the side that beat Manchester City days earlier.
Except for a few changes.
Olivier Giroud started upfront replacing Francesco as striker.
Laurent Koscielny wore the captain's armband tonight.
Nacho Monreal and Héctor Bellerín replaced Walker and Robertson in the fullback positions.
And Theo Walcott started on the wing ahead of Serge Gnabry.
The rest remained familiar.
Mesut Özil floating creatively behind the striker.
Alexis Sánchez restless already during warmups.
N'Golo Kanté smiling quietly while jogging near midfield.
The camera briefly cut toward Wenger standing near the touchline in his long coat.
Calm as always.
Though Francesco noticed something immediately.
"He looks tired."
Leah glanced toward the screen.
"He probably barely slept after hearing what happened."
Probably true.
Wenger had sounded genuinely shaken during their calls.
The players gathered in the tunnel.
Champions League anthem rising.
Crowd roaring.
And suddenly Francesco missed being there much more sharply than before.
Leah sensed it immediately again.
Without saying anything she slipped her hand quietly into his.
Grounding him.
The match began moments later beneath the familiar explosion of crowd noise.
And immediately Arsenal dominated possession.
The difference in quality showed early.
Quick passing.
Aggressive pressing.
Fluid movement through midfield.
Kanté controlled the center almost effortlessly while Özil drifted between lines creating space everywhere.
Mike pointed toward the screen proudly.
"There's your influence."
"What?"
"Half these lads play like caffeinated lunatics now."
"That's just modern football."
"No," David replied calmly. "That's specifically your pressing system."
Francesco shrugged slightly.
Maybe partly true.
The Emirates crowd sounded loud tonight too.
Not normal loud.
Protective loud.
Like supporters understood the emotional context surrounding the match.
Every Arsenal attack carried extra energy.
Every tackle celebrated harder.
At the twelve-minute mark, the television camera briefly focused on supporters behind the dugout holding another large banner:
WE'RE WITH YOU FRANCESCO
Leah squeezed his hand again.
"That's sweet."
Francesco swallowed quietly.
"Yeah."
Because it was.
Football supporters could become vicious sometimes.
Demanding.
Unforgiving.
But moments like this reminded him why he loved the club.
Why Arsenal felt different.
On the pitch, Arsenal continued controlling everything.
Özil threaded passes through impossible gaps while Walcott stretched the defensive line repeatedly with runs behind.
Giroud nearly scored first with a header that crashed against the crossbar.
Jacob groaned dramatically.
"How has he missed that?"
"Because heading is emotionally complicated," Mike answered wisely.
"No," Sarah interrupted. "Stop encouraging this language."
Too late honestly.
Then came the seventeenth minute.
It started through Kanté.
Of course it did.
The midfielder intercepted possession near halfway before immediately feeding Özil between lines. One touch from Özil sent Sánchez bursting down the left side with sudden acceleration.
The Emirates crowd rose instantly sensing danger.
Sánchez cut inside sharply.
One defender beaten.
Another scrambling backward.
Then...
Bang!
Low finish across goal into the far corner.
2 seconds of silence from the defenders.
Absolute eruption from the Emirates.
The stadium exploded.
Sánchez sprinted toward the corner flag screaming while teammates chased him immediately.
Inside the mansion everyone jumped up instinctively too.
"Yes!"
"Get in!"
Cheddar barked like he personally assisted the goal.
But then Sánchez did something unexpected.
The Chilean pulled off his Arsenal shirt during celebration before revealing a white undershirt underneath.
Written across the front in black marker:
WE ARE WITH YOU CAPTAIN :)
For half a second Francesco just stared at the television.
The camera zoomed closer.
The smiley face underneath the message looked ridiculous and heartfelt at the same time.
Exactly something Sánchez would do honestly.
The Emirates crowd roared even louder once they noticed it too.
Leah covered her mouth immediately.
"Oh my God…"
Sarah looked emotional all over again.
Mike pointed aggressively toward the television.
"That's family right there."
Francesco laughed softly under his breath despite suddenly feeling his chest tighten.
Not from sadness.
Something warmer.
Something deeper.
Because football dressing rooms built strange bonds sometimes. People outside saw teammates. Professionals. Athletes.
But moments like this reminded him those relationships became personal.
Protective.
Real.
The television showed Wenger briefly afterward.
Even the manager looked emotional for approximately half a second before returning to composed professionalism.
Jacob shook his head slowly.
"That's actually class."
Leah looked toward Francesco.
"You alright?"
Francesco nodded once quietly while still staring at the screen.
"Yeah."
Then after a second:
"…that idiot wrote a smiley face."
That made everyone laugh.
Even through emotion.
On the television Sánchez finally pulled the shirt back down after avoiding a booking somehow through pure Champions League miracle logic.
The replay rolled again.
Perfect finish.
Perfect celebration.
And somewhere deep inside the mansion, something tense loosened slightly again.
The game resumed with Arsenal still fully dominant afterward.
Maribor barely escaped their own half at times now.
Bellerín flew forward constantly from right-back while Monreal stayed calmer balancing the shape.
Koscielny organized the defense with quiet authority wearing the captain's armband.
Francesco noticed every detail automatically.
Football brain never fully switched off.
David glanced sideways toward him eventually.
"You're analyzing everything, aren't you?"
"…maybe."
"You literally leaned forward before the overlap happened."
Leah laughed softly beside him.
"He does that constantly."
"It's involuntary."
"Emotionally involuntary?" Jacob offered.
"No."
"Yes," Mike answered for him.
The room stayed lighter now.
More relaxed.
Even Amanda looked calmer than earlier while sipping tea beside Sarah.
Outside the mansion rain continued falling steadily across Richmond while camera crews still lingered stubbornly beyond the gates hoping for another glimpse of football's newest national headline.
But inside?
Inside family watched football together.
Normal life slowly rebuilding itself one small moment at a time.
Then came the thirty-sixth minute.
Another Arsenal attack.
Again through midfield control.
Kanté recovered possession before feeding Özil centrally. The German drifted effortlessly away from pressure before lifting one perfectly weighted pass toward Giroud inside the penalty area.
Classic Özil pass.
The kind that looked simple until you realized nobody else saw it.
Giroud controlled beautifully with his first touch.
Turned.
Finished low into the corner.
2–0 Arsenal.
The Emirates erupted again.
Giroud sprinted away roaring toward the supporters while teammates piled onto him near the advertising boards.
Inside the mansion Mike nearly spilled coffee celebrating.
"Yes!"
Cheddar barked again like tactical confirmation.
Jacob pointed triumphantly.
"That's game over."
"Never say that before halftime," David warned calmly.
Football parent logic.
On television the camera cut briefly toward Wenger again applauding calmly from the technical area.
But even through the broadcast Francesco noticed something else.
The players looked motivated differently tonight.
Sharper.
More emotionally connected.
Not just playing for points.
Playing for each other.
Leah rested her head lightly against his shoulder while watching replays of the goal.
"They miss you."
That one hit quietly.
Francesco looked toward the screen where Sánchez and Giroud still laughed together during celebrations.
"Yeah," he admitted softly.
Then after a second:
"I miss them too."
The remainder of the half stayed almost entirely Arsenal control.
Possession.
Pressure.
Confidence.
Maribor barely threatened except for one long-range effort comfortably saved.
By halftime the Emirates crowd sounded fully satisfied.
Arsenal walked down the tunnel leading 2–0 while Champions League graphics flashed across the television screen.
Inside the mansion, conversations immediately exploded across the living room.
"Told you Giroud would score."
"Özil's ridiculous tonight."
"Kanté runs like he has eight lungs."
"Cheddar thinks he's assistant manager now."
The dog wagged proudly from the carpet beneath the coffee table.
Francesco leaned back slowly into the sofa cushions while halftime analysis began across the screen.
Halftime inside the mansion somehow felt almost normal.
Not fully.
Not perfectly.
But close enough that everyone relaxed into the rhythm of football again instead of constantly thinking about broken windows and police sirens.
That mattered.
The television shifted through Champions League analysis while replays of Arsenal's first-half dominance rolled repeatedly across the screen. Sánchez's goal. Giroud's finish. Özil casually dismantling defensive structure with passes that looked illegal from certain camera angles.
Mike sat forward near the coffee table holding a mug of tea with the intensity of a manager preparing tactical adjustments himself.
"I'm telling you now," he announced seriously, "Kanté is not human."
"Correct," Jacob agreed instantly. "That man covers approximately four countries every match."
David nodded calmly.
"He reads transitions unbelievably early."
Francesco listened quietly while watching replays.
Football conversations always felt comforting somehow.
Predictable.
Structured.
You could solve football problems.
Life problems felt messier.
Leah remained curled lightly against his side beneath the blanket while Cheddar slept across both their legs completely unconscious to the fact he was now internationally recognized as an anti-burglary icon.
At one point the halftime broadcast replayed Sánchez's celebration again.
WE ARE WITH YOU CAPTAIN :)
Amanda smiled softly watching it.
"That was lovely."
"It was very Alexis," Leah replied.
Francesco shook his head quietly.
"He definitely planned that himself too."
"Why?"
"Because nobody else would voluntarily add the smiley face."
Mike looked offended immediately.
"I would."
"Exactly my point."
That earned another round of laughter.
The atmosphere kept softening gradually with every passing minute.
Even Sarah finally looked calmer than she had since arriving earlier that afternoon. Not fully relaxed. Probably not possible yet. But calmer.
Every parent in the room still occasionally glanced toward the repaired rear window unconsciously.
Tiny reminders remained.
But football helped tonight.
Normality helped.
Outside, rain continued drifting across the dark Richmond evening while reporters still waited beyond the gates hoping for another headline.
Inside, meanwhile, seven people and one emotionally overconfident dog argued over whether Giroud's movement or Özil's pass deserved more credit for the second goal.
"Giroud still had work to do," Jacob insisted.
"The pass eliminated four defenders," David countered calmly.
"Both," Leah answered wisely.
Mike pointed dramatically.
"Football diplomacy."
The second-half players eventually re-emerged from the tunnel beneath the Emirates floodlights.
The crowd roared again immediately.
And once more something tightened softly inside Francesco's chest watching it all.
The stadium looked beautiful tonight.
Alive.
Protective.
The Emirates crowd still occasionally broke into songs for him too whenever microphones caught the supporters clearly enough.
At one point a section behind the goal started chanting his name loudly enough that even through the television speakers it carried across the stadium.
Leah squeezed his hand gently.
"You're loved there."
Francesco looked toward the screen quietly.
"Yeah."
Simple answer.
Heavy answer.
Because after the last two days, hearing that support felt different than normal football adoration. Less about goals or performances.
More personal.
The second half kicked off.
Immediately Arsenal resumed exactly where they left off.
Possession.
Control.
Pressure.
Maribor looked exhausted trying to chase shadows now while Arsenal moved the ball confidently across the slick surface.
Bellerín burst forward constantly down the right side while Walcott kept stretching defensive lines with direct runs.
Francesco watched everything instinctively.
The positioning.
The spacing.
The timing of the press.
At one point Özil drifted centrally and immediately Francesco leaned forward before the pass even happened.
"There," he muttered automatically.
One second later Özil slipped a through ball exactly into the channel Francesco predicted.
Jacob pointed instantly.
"You did it again!"
"What?"
"You literally see passes before they happen."
Francesco blinked once.
"…occupational hazard."
"Terrifying," Amanda decided.
Leah smiled softly beside him.
"He does it during normal conversations too."
"That's not true."
"You interrupted my mum yesterday because you predicted where her sentence was going."
The room burst out laughing immediately.
Even Francesco cracked a smile.
"Alright maybe slightly true."
The match settled into complete Arsenal dominance after that.
Maribor defended deeper and deeper while Arsenal circulated possession patiently searching for another opening.
Kanté remained absurd.
Every loose ball somehow belonged to him.
Every counterattack died near his feet.
Mike watched in visible disbelief.
"How does he still have energy?"
David answered calmly without taking his eyes off the television.
"He was probably born pressing."
Fair.
Then came the sixty-seventh minute.
Corner kick Arsenal.
The Emirates crowd rose instantly.
Özil walked toward the corner flag adjusting his sleeves while Koscielny and Giroud moved into the penalty area.
Francesco leaned slightly forward automatically.
"Koscielny's free."
The ball hadn't even been delivered yet.
David looked sideways immediately.
"You saw that already?"
"Koscielny's marker lost him near the near-post channel."
"Normal people don't speak like this," Jacob informed him.
Too late.
Özil swung the corner in perfectly.
Koscielny attacked the space exactly as Francesco predicted.
Bang.
Header.
Goal.
3–0 Arsenal.
The Emirates exploded again.
Koscielny sprinted away roaring while teammates piled onto him near the corner flag. The captain punched the air furiously before pointing toward the supporters.
Inside the mansion everyone erupted too.
"Yes!"
"Get in!"
"Called it!" Jacob shouted while pointing accusingly toward Francesco.
Cheddar woke violently from sleep barking like tactical confirmation again.
Mike nearly dropped an entire bowl of crisps celebrating.
"Koscielny you beautiful man!"
On television the replay showed the movement again.
Perfect delivery.
Perfect run.
Perfect header.
Leah looked toward Francesco laughing softly.
"You literally predicted it."
"It was obvious."
"No," Jacob replied immediately. "It absolutely wasn't."
The camera cut toward Wenger applauding calmly near the touchline again.
But even he looked more relaxed now with the match essentially secured.
Francesco noticed another detail immediately though.
The players celebrated together differently tonight again.
Longer.
Closer.
Not individual moments.
Collective moments.
Leah noticed his expression.
"What?"
"They're protecting each other."
David nodded quietly hearing that.
"Teams do that after something affects one of their own."
And Arsenal definitely felt like that tonight.
Not just eleven players performing professionally.
A squad responding emotionally to something involving their captain.
The atmosphere inside the mansion warmed even more afterward.
Three goals.
Champions League football.
Family together.
For the first time since the break-in, genuine comfort settled into the walls of the house instead of forced calm.
Even Sarah finally stopped glancing anxiously toward every unexpected noise outside.
Football gave people temporary escape sometimes.
Tonight it gave all of them breathing room.
At the seventy-third minute Wenger finally made changes.
The fourth official lifted the substitution board while the Emirates applauded loudly.
Off came Sánchez first to a standing ovation.
Then Özil.
Then Kanté.
Three of Arsenal's best performers tonight.
Francesco smiled softly seeing all three receive massive applause while jogging toward the sideline.
"Well deserved."
The substitutes entered immediately afterward.
Alex Iwobi replacing Sánchez.
Santi Cazorla replacing Özil.
Aaron Ramsey replacing Kanté.
On the opposite side, Maribor's manager responded with three substitutions almost simultaneously too, clearly trying to salvage energy and stability more than the result itself now.
Mike nodded approvingly toward the television.
"Good management."
"Very Wenger," Francesco agreed.
"Protect the important players once the game's controlled," David added.
Exactly.
The camera briefly followed Sánchez walking toward the bench afterward.
As he sat down, one teammate immediately slapped the back of his head playfully while pointing toward the undershirt message again.
Leah laughed.
"He definitely thinks he's emotionally profound now."
"He absolutely does."
Francesco's phone buzzed suddenly beside him on the sofa table.
A message.
From Sánchez himself.
Captain ❤️🙂
Francesco physically stared for a second before groaning softly.
"Oh no."
"What?" Leah asked immediately.
He turned the screen toward her.
She burst out laughing instantly.
"The smiley face again!"
"He's committed to the bit."
Mike looked delighted.
"That's football brotherhood right there."
Francesco typed back quickly.
Idiot.
Almost immediately another message arrived.
You cry watching? 🙂
Francesco shook his head in disbelief.
"Unbelievable."
Jacob leaned over trying to read the messages.
"Elite shithousery honestly."
"Language," Amanda warned automatically.
"Sorry."
Not sorry at all.
The final fifteen minutes of the match slowed naturally afterward.
Arsenal no longer forced attacks aggressively.
More control now.
More patience.
Cazorla dictated tempo beautifully while Ramsey added fresh movement through midfield.
Maribor looked resigned to the result.
Still fighting professionally.
Still organized.
But beaten.
The Emirates crowd sensed it too.
The atmosphere became celebratory rather than tense.
Songs rolled around the stadium continuously now.
Several chants for Wenger.
Several for Arsenal.
And every now and then, supporters still sang Francesco's name.
Each time the microphones picked it up clearly enough, someone in the mansion glanced toward him automatically.
Not awkwardly.
Proudly.
Because hearing sixty thousand people support someone you loved hit differently after nearly losing them.
Francesco understood that now more than ever.
At one point during a quieter spell of possession, the broadcast replayed Sánchez's celebration yet again.
The commentator's voice carried warmly over the footage:
"Football becomes secondary sometimes. Tonight Arsenal clearly wanted to send a message to their captain."
Leah rested her head lightly against Francesco's shoulder hearing that.
Outside the mansion gates, reporters still waited beneath the rain hoping for soundbites and reactions.
But inside the house, none of that noise mattered much anymore tonight.
Not compared to this.
Family.
Football.
Safety.
Healing.
Small ordinary moments slowly reclaiming space from fear.
The final minutes ticked away comfortably.
Walcott nearly added a fourth after cutting inside sharply before dragging his shot wide.
Giroud continued battling defenders tirelessly up front.
Bellerín still somehow sprinted like the match had just started.
Mike shook his head in admiration.
"These lads are flying tonight."
"They needed this performance too," Francesco admitted quietly.
"Why?"
"After everything around the club this week… after City… after what happened here…" He looked toward the television thoughtfully. "Sometimes teams need emotional release."
David nodded slowly.
"That makes sense."
And Arsenal absolutely looked emotionally free tonight.
Connected.
Focused.
Protective.
The final whistle finally arrived beneath loud applause from the Emirates crowd.
3–0 Arsenal.
Professional.
Dominant.
Controlled.
The players applauded supporters from the pitch while Champions League graphics flashed across the television.
Inside the mansion everyone relaxed fully into the result.
"Comfortable."
"Exactly what they needed."
"Kanté remains supernatural."
"Cheddar thinks he deserves a clean sheet bonus."
The dog wagged proudly again from the carpet.
On television Arsenal players lingered on the pitch longer than usual afterward.
Talking.
Laughing.
Acknowledging supporters.
Then unexpectedly Koscielny walked directly toward one of the cameras near the tunnel entrance.
For a second he looked awkwardly thoughtful.
Then he tapped the Arsenal badge once before pointing directly into the camera and saying clearly:
"For our captain."
The room went quiet softly.
Not sad quiet.
Emotional quiet.
Leah looked toward Francesco immediately.
Sarah smiled gently.
Even Mike stayed silent for once.
Francesco swallowed slightly while staring at the screen.
Again that strange warmth tightened inside his chest.
Because football careers often felt ruthless.
Results-driven.
Temporary.
But moments like this reminded him how deep dressing room loyalty could actually run.
The players eventually disappeared down the tunnel while post-match analysis began.
Jacob stretched dramatically across the sofa.
"Well. Arsenal are winning the Champions League emotionally."
"No jinxing," David warned instantly.
"Sorry."
Again not remotely sorry.
Cheddar climbed partially onto Francesco's lap afterward despite definitely being too large now.
Francesco scratched behind the dog's ears absently while the room slowly settled into post-match conversation and relaxed exhaustion.
Leah tilted her head upward toward him slightly.
"You smiling again is nice."
He looked at her quietly for a second.
"Yeah," he admitted softly.
Then he look toward the television, around the warm living room filled with family as his smile stayed.
______________________________________________
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 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 20
Goal: 25
Assist: 1
MOTM:3
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 2
Goal: 2
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
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