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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
And after a 5-0 victory away from home, it was becoming increasingly difficult to blame them.
The applause followed Arsenal all the way around the pitch.
Even after the players had finished thanking the travelling supporters.
Even after scarves had been lowered.
Even after the final chants had started fading into the cold Welsh evening.
The noise lingered.
Because supporters knew what they had witnessed.
Not just a victory.
Not just three points.
A performance.
One of those afternoons where everything seemed to click.
The passing.
The movement.
The pressing.
The finishing.
Every piece fitting together perfectly.
Five goals.
A clean sheet.
A dominant away win.
The kind of result title contenders were expected to produce.
And Arsenal had done exactly that.
As the players slowly began making their way toward the tunnel, a familiar voice called out from nearby.
"Francesco!"
He turned.
One of the Premier League media coordinators was jogging toward him.
Microphone already in hand.
Television crews gathering nearby.
Of course.
Post-match interviews.
Football never allowed players to disappear immediately after a big performance.
The coordinator smiled.
"Sky Sports would like a quick word."
Francesco glanced toward the tunnel.
Several teammates immediately noticed what was happening.
Walker pointed dramatically.
"Oh no."
Robertson laughed.
"He's being captured."
"Tell my family I tried."
That earned a laugh from everyone nearby.
The media coordinator shook his head.
"You'll survive."
"No promises."
A few minutes later Francesco found himself standing beside the pitchside interview area.
Floodlights illuminated the scene.
Cameras pointed directly at him.
The Liberty Stadium slowly emptied in the background.
Supporters still drifting toward exits.
The interviewer adjusted his microphone.
Then smiled.
"Congratulations."
"Thank you."
"A pretty good afternoon."
Francesco laughed.
"Yeah."
"You could say that."
The interviewer nodded.
"Five-nil away from home."
"Another clean sheet."
"Another dominant performance."
"How pleased are you with that?"
The Arsenal captain glanced briefly toward the pitch.
Still covered in footprints from ninety intense minutes.
"Very pleased."
The answer came naturally.
"These matches aren't easy."
"I know the score might make it look comfortable."
"But Swansea are a good team."
"They work hard."
"They make things difficult."
"So we're happy."
He nodded.
"Especially with how professional we were."
The interviewer seemed to like that answer.
"Professional?"
"Yeah."
"We started well."
"We stayed focused."
"We didn't give them opportunities to come back."
"That's important."
The interviewer smiled.
"Arsène Wenger spoke at halftime about not giving Swansea hope."
Francesco laughed.
"Then you were listening."
"We always listen."
"Smart decision."
That earned a few chuckles from nearby production staff.
The interviewer continued.
"Let's talk about your goal."
Immediately several Arsenal supporters still lingering near the stands cheered loudly.
They knew exactly which goal he meant.
The solo goal.
The fourth.
The one people would be replaying all week.
"You beat three players."
"The finish was outstanding."
"What was going through your mind?"
Francesco grinned.
"Honestly?"
"Honestly."
"I saw space."
The interviewer laughed.
"That's it?"
"Pretty much."
The crowd behind them laughed too.
Francesco shrugged.
"Sometimes football is complicated."
"Sometimes it isn't."
"The first touch worked."
"Then the second one worked."
"Then suddenly you're running at goal."
He smiled.
"And at that point you don't really think."
"You just play."
The interviewer nodded.
"A very modest explanation."
"It sounds better than saying I planned everything."
"Fair enough."
More laughter followed.
Then came the inevitable question.
The one everyone wanted discussed.
Bukayo Saka.
The young winger had become one of the biggest stories at Arsenal almost overnight.
The interviewer looked toward him.
"Saka again."
"Another strong performance."
"No goal today."
"No assist."
"But supporters seemed to love every minute he played."
"What are you seeing from him?"
Francesco immediately smiled.
Because he genuinely enjoyed talking about the youngster.
"Confidence."
The answer came instantly.
"Confidence and courage."
The interviewer listened.
"A lot of young players are talented."
"That's normal."
"But stepping onto a Premier League pitch is different."
"There are thousands of people watching."
"Millions on television."
"The pressure is real."
He nodded toward the stadium.
"Bukayo doesn't seem scared by any of it."
"That's a very good sign."
The interviewer smiled.
"You've become something of a mentor for him."
Francesco shook his head.
"I wouldn't go that far."
The interviewer raised an eyebrow.
"No?"
"No."
"We help him."
"All of us."
"The senior players."
"The coaching staff."
"The entire squad."
"But he's making things easy."
"Because he works."
"He listens."
"And he wants to improve."
The praise sounded genuine.
Because it was.
The interviewer glanced down at his notes.
Then back up.
"One final question."
"Alexis Sánchez signs a new contract."
"The team reaches Wembley."
"Arsenal win five-nil away from home."
"There seems to be a lot of momentum around this club right now."
"Can Arsenal achieve something special this season?"
For the first time, Francesco paused.
Not because he didn't know the answer.
Because he wanted to choose the right words.
Eventually he smiled.
"We believe in ourselves."
The interviewer nodded.
"We have a very good squad."
"We have a great manager."
"We have young players improving."
"We have experienced players leading."
He folded his arms.
"But football doesn't give you anything for free."
The answer sounded very Wenger.
Which probably wasn't an accident.
"We have to keep working."
"We have to stay humble."
"And we have to keep winning matches."
The interviewer extended his hand.
"Congratulations again."
"Thank you."
The cameras switched off.
The interview ended.
And immediately the football side of life returned.
No more microphones.
No more questions.
Just teammates.
Just the dressing room.
Just football.
Exactly how Francesco liked it.
The moment he stepped back inside the away dressing room, the atmosphere hit him immediately.
Music.
Laughter.
Conversations.
Victory always changed a room.
The difference was impossible to miss.
Players sat relaxed at their lockers.
Some checking phones.
Some eating recovery snacks.
Others replaying moments from the match.
And naturally, Walker was already causing trouble.
"Look who's back."
Francesco sighed dramatically.
"I was hoping you'd been sold while I was gone."
Walker pointed toward himself.
"You can't sell greatness."
"That's a shame."
The room erupted into laughter.
Robertson shook his head.
"I scored today and somehow he's still the loudest person here."
"Leadership."
"That's not leadership."
"It absolutely is."
Even Wenger's coaching staff couldn't help smiling.
The atmosphere was simply too good.
Eventually Francesco grabbed a towel and headed toward the showers.
The familiar routine felt wonderful.
Especially after ninety minutes.
The hot water washed away sweat.
Exhaustion.
Tension.
Every footballer understood that feeling.
The strange satisfaction of a shower after a good performance.
Standing there, Francesco found himself replaying moments from the match.
Sánchez's opener.
Gnabry's finish.
Özil's goal.
Robertson's celebration.
Saka's confidence.
The supporters.
The chants.
The atmosphere.
A very good day.
A very good day indeed.
Eventually he finished.
Changed into an Arsenal jumpsuit.
Pulled on a club jacket.
And returned to the dressing room.
Most of the squad had already changed as well.
The post-match routine was fully underway.
Until the door opened.
And Wenger appeared.
Immediately several players looked up.
The manager glanced around the room.
Then toward Francesco.
"Ready?"
The captain already knew what that meant.
Press conference.
Again.
Somewhere nearby Walker groaned dramatically.
"Save yourself."
"I'll try."
"You won't."
Francesco laughed.
Probably true.
A few minutes later he was walking through the stadium corridors alongside Wenger.
The contrast between them always amused people.
Wenger looked as composed as ever.
Elegant.
Measured.
Calm.
As though he'd spent the afternoon reading a newspaper rather than managing a football match.
Francesco, meanwhile, still carried the energy of a player fresh from competition.
The press conference room was already waiting.
Rows of journalists.
Television cameras.
Reporters typing final notes.
Everyone looking up as Wenger entered.
Then Francesco.
Camera flashes immediately followed.
The manager took his seat.
Francesco sat beside him.
The moderator welcomed everyone.
Then opened the floor.
Questions arrived instantly.
Most focused on Arsenal's performance.
Others focused on the title race.
Several focused on Saka.
A few focused on Sánchez's contract extension.
The usual mixture.
One journalist smiled toward Wenger.
"Five-nil away from home."
"You must be delighted."
The Frenchman nodded.
"I am pleased."
Classic Wenger.
Never delighted.
Always pleased.
The room smiled knowingly.
The journalist continued.
"Your team looked dominant."
"I thought we played with intelligence."
Wenger replied.
"And discipline."
He glanced briefly toward Francesco.
"Particularly in the second half."
Several reporters scribbled notes.
Then another question arrived.
This one aimed at Francesco.
"Your goal."
The room laughed immediately.
Everyone knew it was coming.
The journalist smiled.
"Did you surprise yourself?"
Francesco shook his head.
"No."
The room laughed again.
The reporter laughed too.
"Confident answer."
"If I said yes, my teammates would never let me hear the end of it."
That earned another round of laughter.
Even Wenger smiled.
Barely.
But enough.
The questions continued.
Nearly twenty minutes passed.
Discussion of tactics.
Discussion of the title race.
Discussion of squad depth.
Discussion of Saka's development.
When asked about the youngster, Wenger's answer drew particular attention.
"He has talent."
The manager said simply.
"But talent is only the beginning."
He paused.
"He works very hard."
"And he wants to learn."
Those words carried significance.
Everyone in the room knew it.
Because Wenger did not hand out praise freely.
Eventually the final question arrived.
The moderator thanked everyone.
The cameras switched off.
And the press conference ended.
By the time Francesco returned to the dressing room, the atmosphere had become even more relaxed.
Phones were out everywhere.
Highlights were already being watched.
Goals already being shared.
Players looked comfortable.
Happy.
Content.
The way footballers often looked after a convincing win.
Francesco stepped inside.
And immediately got everyone's attention.
Not intentionally.
Walker simply noticed him first.
"Danger."
Francesco blinked.
"What?"
"That look."
"What look?"
"The captain look."
Several players laughed.
Francesco shook his head.
"You spend too much time talking."
"Leadership never rests."
"Please stop saying leadership."
The room erupted again.
Then Francesco raised his hands.
"Alright."
That got enough attention.
The room gradually quieted.
At least by football dressing room standards.
Which still wasn't particularly quiet.
Francesco looked around.
At teammates.
Friends.
A squad that had just won five-nil away from home.
Then smiled.
"Dinner tonight."
Several players looked up immediately.
"Dinner?"
"Dinner."
He nodded.
"My treat."
For a second there was silence.
Then chaos.
Absolute chaos.
Walker jumped to his feet.
"I always knew you were my favorite teammate."
"You said that about Alexis yesterday."
"Different favorite."
Robertson pointed dramatically.
"He's paying."
"Important information."
Giroud laughed.
Koscielny shook his head.
Even Čech smiled.
The announcement had transformed the room instantly.
Because footballers loved many things.
Free food ranked surprisingly high on the list.
Saka looked genuinely excited.
"Really?"
"Really."
The teenager grinned.
The reaction alone made it worthwhile.
Francesco laughed.
"After a five-nil win, I think we can celebrate a little."
Nobody disagreed.
Not a single person.
Eventually it was time to leave.
Bags were collected.
Staff organized equipment.
Final checks were completed.
And one by one the players began making their way toward the team bus.
Outside, the evening air felt colder now.
Darkness had settled across Swansea.
The floodlights illuminated sections of the stadium complex.
Supporters still lingered nearby.
Waiting.
Hoping for photos.
Autographs.
One final glimpse of the players.
The Arsenal squad acknowledged them before boarding.
Then gradually filled their usual seats.
The atmosphere felt different now.
Relaxed.
Content.
Victories made journeys home significantly more enjoyable.
Walker was already discussing restaurant options.
Far too loudly.
Robertson was arguing with him.
Saka listened while trying not to laugh.
Wenger sat near the front.
Quiet as always.
Watching.
Thinking.
Probably already planning the next match.
Because managers never really stopped.
The engine started.
The bus slowly pulled away from Liberty Stadium.
Past supporters.
Past floodlights.
Past another successful afternoon.
And as Swansea disappeared behind them, Arsenal's players settled into their seats for the journey back toward the restaurant.
The journey away from Liberty Stadium should have been quiet.
Most away trips after ninety intense minutes usually were.
Players stretched out in their seats.
Some listened to music.
Others checked messages from family members.
A few simply stared out of the window while exhaustion slowly caught up with them.
This Arsenal squad, however, had never been particularly good at staying quiet.
Especially after winning 5–0.
The bus rolled through Swansea beneath the glow of streetlights while conversations bounced from one row to another.
Walker was still discussing dinner.
Far too enthusiastically.
"I'm just saying," he announced loudly enough for half the bus to hear, "if Francesco is paying, then I should order dessert."
Robertson immediately looked over.
"Dessert?"
"Yes."
"You haven't even had dinner yet."
"That doesn't matter."
"It absolutely matters."
Walker pointed dramatically.
"That's quitter mentality."
Several players burst out laughing.
Francesco shook his head from a few seats away.
"You're the reason restaurant owners get nervous when football teams arrive."
"Wrong."
Walker smiled proudly.
"I bring energy."
"You bring invoices."
The laughter only grew louder.
Even Wenger, sitting near the front of the bus, appeared to be fighting a smile.
Only fighting it.
Because Arsène Wenger rarely lost those battles.
Usually.
The restaurant eventually came into view about fifteen minutes later.
Not overly fancy.
Not the sort of place that celebrities deliberately visited for publicity.
Just a well-regarded restaurant near Liberty Stadium that offered privacy, good food, and enough space for an entire Premier League squad.
Exactly what Arsenal needed.
The bus slowly pulled into the parking area.
Immediately several players stood.
Stretching legs.
Collecting bags.
Continuing conversations.
Outside, the evening air had grown colder.
The winter night settling fully over Swansea.
As the Arsenal squad stepped off the bus, a few supporters nearby immediately recognized them.
Phones appeared almost instantly.
Several fans called out names.
"Francesco!"
"Alexis!"
"Mesut!"
"Saka!"
The players waved politely while making their way toward the entrance.
Even now, after a long match, they understood what moments like that meant to supporters.
Especially younger ones.
Inside, the restaurant staff were already waiting.
And judging by their expressions, they were trying very hard to remain professional.
Trying.
Not entirely succeeding.
One young hostess looked seconds away from asking for ten autographs immediately.
Another employee was clearly attempting not to stare at Sánchez.
The manager greeted Wenger personally.
"Welcome."
"Thank you for having us."
"It is our pleasure."
And honestly, it probably was.
An entire Arsenal squad arriving after a five-goal victory wasn't exactly a normal evening.
The players were guided toward a large private section that had been prepared in advance.
Several long tables had been arranged together.
Enough space for everyone.
Coaches.
Players.
Staff.
The entire travelling group.
As everyone settled into seats, Walker immediately looked around.
"This is nice."
"You say that about every restaurant."
"Because food is important."
"That's not what you said."
"It's what I meant."
"No it isn't."
"Yes it is."
The argument resumed immediately.
Nobody seemed surprised.
Meanwhile Saka sat between Smith Rowe and Nketiah, still looking slightly amazed by everything happening around him.
Only a few days earlier he had been an academy prospect hoping for opportunities.
Now he was celebrating a 5–0 Premier League victory with Arsenal's first team.
Football moved fast.
Very fast.
Before menus could even be fully examined, Robertson suddenly had an idea.
A dangerous thing.
"Photo."
Several heads turned.
"What?"
"We need a photo."
The Scottish defender pointed around the room.
"Whole squad."
Immediately players began agreeing.
"Good idea."
"Definitely."
"We should."
"Before Walker eats everything."
"That's rude."
"It's accurate."
The restaurant staff quickly volunteered assistance.
One waiter looked delighted.
Possibly the happiest waiter in Swansea.
"Of course."
"We can help."
Within minutes chairs shifted.
Players gathered together.
Coaches joined.
Staff members squeezed into position.
Even Wenger was persuaded.
Which was impressive.
The manager wasn't exactly known for loving photographs.
The waiter stood ready with multiple phones.
"Everyone in?"
"No."
"Walker moved."
"I didn't."
"You absolutely did."
"Leadership positioning."
"Stop calling everything leadership."
The entire group laughed.
Finally the photograph was taken.
Then another.
Then another.
Because footballers never trusted just one picture.
The final result showed smiling faces everywhere.
Veterans.
Youngsters.
Coaches.
Staff.
An entire squad enjoying a rare evening together.
One that would almost certainly end up framed somewhere inside Arsenal's training ground eventually.
Once the photographs were finished, attention finally shifted toward food.
Menus opened.
Discussions immediately started.
And naturally chaos followed.
"What's everyone getting?"
"Food."
"Very helpful."
"Thank you."
"I hate this table."
"You love this table."
"That's true."
Orders began slowly making their way toward the staff.
Steaks.
Chicken.
Pasta.
Seafood.
Various combinations chosen according to personal preference.
Footballers were generally disciplined with nutrition.
But after a dominant away victory and a day of intense physical effort, there was slightly more flexibility than usual.
Walker was still debating desserts before ordering his main course.
Nobody found that surprising.
Francesco sat near Wenger, Sánchez, and Özil.
The conversation there felt calmer.
A little less chaotic.
At least initially.
Sánchez leaned back in his chair.
"Good win."
"Very."
Özil nodded.
"We controlled everything."
The German rarely wasted words.
When he complimented a performance, it carried weight.
Wenger listened quietly before speaking.
"For me, the most important thing was concentration."
Several players nearby immediately paid attention.
Because even here.
Even during dinner.
Wenger remained Wenger.
The manager continued.
"Three-nil at halftime."
"Many teams relax."
"We didn't."
Francesco nodded.
The manager was right.
The fourth goal had effectively killed the match.
The fifth had buried it completely.
Professionalism mattered.
Especially in title races.
Before the conversation could become too tactical, the first dishes began arriving.
One by one.
Plates appearing across tables.
The smell alone immediately improved everyone's mood.
Not that morale needed much improvement after a five-goal victory.
The restaurant staff moved efficiently despite serving one of the largest groups they had likely hosted all year.
Food continued arriving.
Conversations continued flowing.
And gradually the atmosphere became even warmer.
More relaxed.
More personal.
The football talk slowly expanded into everything else.
Stories.
Jokes.
Travel experiences.
Training-ground memories.
The sort of conversations supporters rarely got to see.
At one point Saka was listening quietly while several senior players discussed their first professional contracts.
The teenager couldn't stop smiling.
Walker pointed at him.
"Enjoying yourself?"
"Maybe."
"You're definitely enjoying yourself."
"Can you blame me?"
"Fair point."
Another round of laughter followed.
Then came the inevitable interruption.
A restaurant employee approached carefully.
Clearly nervous.
"Excuse me."
Immediately several players looked up.
The young woman hesitated.
Then smiled apologetically.
"I am very sorry to interrupt."
"No problem."
"I was wondering…"
She glanced toward Francesco.
Then Sánchez.
Then Saka.
Then everyone.
"Would it be possible to get a photograph?"
The request instantly made several players smile.
"Of course."
Her relief was immediate.
Within moments she was taking pictures with players while trying not to look overwhelmed.
Soon other staff members gathered enough courage to ask as well.
One chef appeared from the kitchen.
Then another.
Then another.
Each trying to remain professional.
Each failing slightly.
The Arsenal players happily obliged.
Autographs followed.
Photographs followed.
Handshakes followed.
Nobody complained.
Because most players remembered being supporters themselves once.
They understood exactly what these moments meant.
As the evening continued, word gradually spread through the restaurant.
Not aggressively.
Not dramatically.
But inevitably.
Arsenal were here.
The entire Arsenal squad.
Customers sitting elsewhere in the restaurant began noticing.
Then whispering.
Then glancing over.
Then debating whether it was acceptable to approach.
Some resisted.
Others couldn't.
Eventually a father approached with his young son.
The boy couldn't have been older than ten.
An Arsenal shirt hung loosely from his shoulders.
Clearly worn often.
The father looked apologetic.
"Sorry to bother you."
"You aren't."
The boy stared at Francesco.
Speechless.
Completely speechless.
The sort of expression footballers saw occasionally and never really got used to.
"Would you like a picture?"
The child nodded immediately.
Far too quickly.
The entire table smiled.
A photograph was taken.
Then an autograph.
Then another picture because the first one was apparently blurry.
The boy left looking as though Christmas had arrived several months early.
Saka watched the whole interaction quietly.
A thoughtful expression crossing his face.
Francesco noticed.
"What?"
The youngster smiled slightly.
"It's weird."
"What is?"
"People asking for pictures."
Several players laughed.
Walker pointed dramatically.
"Get used to it."
"I don't think I ever will."
"You scored in a semi-final."
"That's not helping."
"It should."
"It's not."
The table erupted again.
Wenger observed the exchange quietly.
There was something almost satisfying about seeing the youngster experience these moments.
Not because of fame.
But because it represented progress.
Growth.
Another step in a promising career.
As more food disappeared and conversations continued, the atmosphere somehow became even better.
Victories always strengthened dressing rooms.
Shared meals strengthened them even more.
Football seasons were long.
Pressure was constant.
Matches arrived every few days.
Moments like this mattered.
They reminded players that they were more than teammates.
They were a group.
A family in many ways.
Different personalities.
Different backgrounds.
Different nationalities.
United by the same badge.
The same objectives.
The same dreams.
Hours seemed to pass surprisingly quickly.
Eventually plates began emptying.
Conversations slowed slightly.
Coffee appeared for some.
Tea for others.
Walker did, in fact, order dessert.
Multiple teammates claimed they had predicted it.
He insisted nobody could have known.
Nobody believed him.
The evidence was overwhelming.
Outside, Swansea's winter night had grown darker still.
The restaurant remained warm.
Comfortable.
Filled with laughter.
And sitting among teammates, coaches, and friends, Francesco found himself appreciating the evening for what it truly was.
Not the victory.
Not the goals.
Not even the league table.
Those things mattered.
Of course they did.
But evenings like this reminded him why football was special.
Because behind every result.
Behind every headline.
Behind every trophy chase.
There were people.
Relationships.
Memories.
Moments shared together.
The season would continue tomorrow.
Training would return.
Pressure would return.
Another opponent would arrive.
Another challenge would wait.
But tonight belonged to them.
A squad growing stronger together.
A team chasing something extraordinary.
And as laughter echoed around the restaurant while staff members continued collecting photos and autographs, it was impossible not to feel that Arsenal were building something special.
______________________________________________
Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 19 (2017)
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: 36
Goal: 43
Assist: 3
MOTM: 5
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