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 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.
The evening eventually began to wind down.
Not because anyone wanted it to.
But because tomorrow would arrive far sooner than anyone preferred.
Professional football offered very little time to celebrate.
There was always another training session.
Another recovery day.
Another match waiting just around the corner.
One by one, empty plates disappeared from the tables.
Coffee cups were finished.
The final spoonfuls of Walker's dessert vanished almost suspiciously quickly.
Robertson looked across the table with exaggerated disbelief.
"I still don't understand how you had room for that."
Walker placed a hand dramatically over his chest.
"You don't question greatness."
"I question your stomach."
"My stomach is elite."
"It's terrifying."
"It deserves respect."
"It deserves medical research."
Another burst of laughter rolled through the private dining room.
Even several restaurant staff members nearby couldn't hide their smiles anymore.
The atmosphere had become wonderfully relaxed.
The tension of the match had disappeared completely.
Now it simply felt like a group of friends enjoying one another's company.
Wenger quietly stood from his chair.
Almost immediately conversations began settling.
Nobody had asked them to.
It simply happened.
The Arsenal manager looked around at his players.
Veterans.
Academy graduates.
International stars.
Young prospects.
A squad that, more and more, was beginning to resemble something greater than the sum of its parts.
"Thank you, gentlemen."
His voice remained calm, as always.
"A good performance today."
Several players nodded.
"But tomorrow," Wenger continued with a faint smile, "our recovery begins."
A few theatrical groans echoed around the room.
Walker raised his hand.
"Does recovery include another dessert?"
"No."
"What about two?"
"No."
"I felt I had to ask."
"You did."
"And?"
"The answer is still no."
The room erupted once more.
Wenger allowed himself the smallest smile before shaking his head.
"I'll see all of you in London."
That was enough.
No dramatic speeches.
No motivational slogans.
Just quiet professionalism.
Exactly what everyone expected from Arsène Wenger.
The players gradually stood from their seats.
Several made a point of thanking the restaurant staff personally.
Hands were shaken.
More photographs were taken.
The chefs emerged one final time from the kitchen, still looking delighted that the entire Arsenal squad had spent the evening under their roof.
The manager personally thanked the restaurant owner before leaving.
"It was excellent."
"It was an honour to have you."
"The hospitality was greatly appreciated."
Outside, the winter air immediately reminded everyone that February in Wales was never particularly forgiving.
A sharp breeze swept across the parking area.
Players instinctively zipped up jackets.
Scarves were adjusted.
Some pulled hats lower over their heads.
Supporters who had waited patiently outside were still there despite the late hour.
Several called out as the players appeared.
"Come on, Arsenal!"
"Great game today!"
"Francesco!"
"Saka!"
"Alexis!"
The squad slowed naturally.
Nobody rushed.
Autographs were signed.
Selfies were taken.
Children were lifted closer for photographs.
Parents thanked the players for taking the time.
One elderly supporter wearing an old Arsenal scarf simply shook Wenger's hand.
"Thank you."
The Frenchman smiled warmly.
"Our pleasure."
Eventually, with everyone back aboard, the doors of the team coach folded shut.
The engine rumbled into life.
The bus slowly rolled away from the restaurant and disappeared into Swansea's quiet streets.
Inside, the atmosphere had changed.
The excitement remained.
But fatigue had finally begun catching everyone.
The long day was starting to win.
Music quietly played through headphones.
Several conversations faded into murmurs.
Smith Rowe had fallen asleep within minutes.
Nketiah wasn't far behind.
Saka rested his head against the window, watching the lights outside blur into long streaks as the coach made its way through the Welsh roads.
Walker looked around.
"So…"
Robertson sighed.
"What now?"
"I'm hungry again."
Several nearby players groaned in unison.
"You've got to be kidding."
"We literally just ate."
"I know."
"So how?"
Walker shrugged innocently.
"I'm gifted."
"You're impossible."
"I've heard both."
Francesco laughed quietly before looking out of the window himself.
The roads had become emptier.
Streetlights reflected across damp asphalt.
The victory replayed in his mind.
Five goals.
Another clean sheet.
Another important three points.
Another step in a title race that refused to slow down.
Football never allowed anyone to stay comfortable.
Not for long.
Before anyone realised it, the lights of their hotel appeared ahead.
The coach pulled smoothly into the entrance.
One after another, players climbed down carrying backpacks and overnight bags.
Nobody lingered outside.
The cold encouraged efficiency.
Inside, however, the warmth of the hotel welcomed them immediately.
The receptionist smiled knowingly.
"Good evening."
"Congratulations on the result."
Several players thanked her as room keys were distributed.
Soon the squad dispersed through quiet corridors.
Doors opened.
Bags were dropped.
Phones were plugged into chargers.
Recovery routines began almost automatically.
Ice baths for some.
Stretching for others.
Protein shakes.
Massage guns.
Hydration.
Professional habits built through years of repetition.
Francesco stood for a moment beside the hotel window.
Swansea looked peaceful beneath the night sky.
The stadium lights in the distance had long since gone dark.
He smiled faintly before drawing the curtains closed.
Tomorrow they would return home.
For tonight…
Sleep finally arrived.
Morning came much earlier than anyone would have liked.
Alarm clocks echoed throughout the hotel.
Curtains opened to reveal a pale Welsh sky.
The previous evening's celebrations had disappeared.
Recovery mode had officially begun.
Players appeared downstairs one after another wearing Arsenal travel gear.
Breakfast remained disciplined.
Fruit.
Eggs.
Wholegrain toast.
Porridge.
Fresh juice.
Coffee for those who absolutely needed it.
Walker stared mournfully at a display of pastries.
Robertson noticed.
"Thinking about it?"
"I am."
"Don't."
"I know."
"You really do know."
"I hate that I know."
After breakfast the luggage was loaded into the coach once again.
The journey through Swansea remained quiet.
Much quieter than the previous evening.
Bodies were still recovering from ninety intense minutes.
Outside, the Welsh countryside rolled gently past the windows as they made their way toward the airport.
Upon arrival, airport staff had already coordinated their private departure.
Security checks proceeded efficiently.
Ground staff greeted the Arsenal delegation politely.
Soon the players were walking across the tarmac toward their charter aircraft.
The engines stood silent for only a few more moments before boarding began.
Inside the aircraft, players settled into familiar seats.
Some immediately reclined.
Others watched films.
A few reviewed clips from yesterday's match on their tablets.
Francesco glanced through several moments from the game.
Passing combinations.
Pressing movements.
Positioning.
Even after scoring, there were always details worth improving.
That mentality had carried him this far.
It would have to carry him even further.
The aircraft eventually accelerated along the runway.
Moments later Wales disappeared beneath a blanket of clouds.
London awaited.
The flight itself passed peacefully.
Cabin lights remained dim.
Several players slept through most of the journey.
Others chatted quietly.
Medical staff checked on recovery plans.
Coaches occasionally discussed upcoming fixtures.
Before long, the captain announced their descent.
Clouds broke apart.
The familiar landscape of southern England appeared beneath them.
Home.
The aircraft touched down smoothly.
Applause wasn't necessary.
Professional footballers flew too often for that.
Instead everyone calmly collected their belongings before making their way off the plane.
Waiting nearby stood the familiar Arsenal team coach.
Bags were loaded.
Players climbed aboard once more.
The drive toward London Colney felt comforting.
Roads became increasingly familiar.
Landmarks everyone recognised slipped past outside the windows.
Conversation gradually returned.
Someone teased Walker about ordering another dessert at home.
He defended himself passionately.
Nobody listened.
Laughter followed anyway.
Eventually the gates of London Colney came into view.
The coach rolled through the entrance before stopping outside the first-team building.
For a brief moment nobody moved.
It was always slightly strange.
One day earlier they had left together for another away match.
Now the trip had officially ended.
Players stood.
Goodbyes were exchanged.
"See you tomorrow."
"Recover well."
"Drive safely."
"Good game."
Staff unloaded luggage while footballers walked toward the staff parking area where their own vehicles waited.
One after another, engines started.
Sánchez waved before pulling away.
Özil followed shortly after.
Walker drove off while still somehow talking through his open window.
Robertson simply laughed and shook his head.
Francesco walked toward his own car.
His black BMW M2 sat exactly where he had left it before travelling to Wales.
He unlocked it with a press of the key.
The headlights flashed.
The familiar growl of the engine filled the parking area as he settled behind the steering wheel.
There was always something comforting about driving himself after days spent on team transport.
No conversations.
No schedules.
Just the road ahead.
Leaving London Colney behind, he merged onto the road toward Richmond.
Traffic was manageable.
The late morning sun occasionally broke through the clouds, casting brief flashes of light across the windscreen.
His mind drifted naturally toward home.
Toward peace.
Toward Leah.
The thought made him smile.
Almost as if on cue, his phone buzzed softly through the car's hands-free system.
A notification appeared on the dashboard display.
Leah ❤️
He pressed the steering-wheel control to have the message read aloud.
"Morning, love. 😊 Before you get home, could you stop by the supermarket for me? We're running low on groceries, and could you also grab some Cheddar's dog food? Thank you. Drive safely. Love you."
Francesco couldn't help but chuckle.
Of course.
After scoring goals, winning 5–0 away from home, celebrating with teammates, flying back to London and completing another successful Premier League trip as his next mission was grocery shopping.
Somehow, it felt perfect.
He tapped the voice reply button.
"Of course. I'll pick everything up before I get home. Give Cheddar a pat from me."
The system confirmed the message had been sent.
Francesco smiled to himself as the BMW continued through Richmond.
The BMW M2 glided smoothly through the familiar streets of Richmond.
The roads were busier now than they had been earlier that morning.
Parents were collecting children from schools.
Cyclists threaded their way through traffic.
People carrying shopping bags moved along the pavements, enjoying one of those crisp winter mornings that somehow managed to feel bright despite the cold.
Francesco followed the navigation toward the nearest supermarket.
His shopping list wasn't particularly complicated.
Fresh vegetables.
Milk.
Eggs.
Bread.
Fruit.
Chicken.
Pasta.
A few household essentials.
And, according to Leah's message as one of it was Cheddar's favourite dog food.
The thought made him smile again.
Scoring goals in front of sixty thousand supporters was one thing.
Remembering which flavour of dog food Cheddar preferred somehow felt equally important.
A few minutes later, the supermarket came into view.
Francesco guided the BMW into the underground parking area, found an empty space near the entrance, and switched off the engine.
For a moment, everything became quiet.
No chants.
No cameras.
No teammates talking across a team bus.
Just the faint hum of ventilation fans echoing around the concrete parking structure.
He picked up a reusable shopping bag from the back seat before locking the car.
As the headlights flashed once, he made his way toward the entrance.
The automatic doors slid open.
Warm air greeted him immediately.
The familiar scent of freshly baked bread drifted from the bakery section.
Shopping trolleys rattled.
Checkout scanners beeped rhythmically.
Conversations blended together beneath soft background music.
For the first few moments, nobody seemed to notice him.
That lasted approximately ten seconds.
A woman arranging apples looked twice.
Her eyes widened slightly.
She nudged the man beside her.
"I think that's him…"
The man turned.
"…It is him."
Nearby, another customer quietly lifted a phone.
Not to invade his space.
Simply to send a quick message.
Within minutes the recognition spread naturally through the supermarket.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just through whispers.
"Isn't that Francesco?"
"He scored yesterday."
"Five-nil against Swansea."
"I can't believe he's doing his own shopping."
People glanced over as he pushed his trolley through the aisles.
Some smiled.
Others offered small nods.
Francesco returned every greeting warmly.
He had long ago accepted that moments like these were simply part of his life now.
He started in the produce section.
Fresh tomatoes.
Spinach.
Bell peppers.
Onions.
Carrots.
Leah always preferred choosing vegetables herself.
But since she'd trusted him with today's shopping, he carefully inspected each one before placing it into the trolley.
"No bruises," he murmured to himself.
"She'll definitely check."
An elderly lady standing beside him chuckled.
"My husband never checks."
Francesco laughed.
"Then I'm trying to set a better example."
She smiled warmly.
"I'm sure she'll appreciate it."
"I hope so."
The woman wished him congratulations on yesterday's performance before continuing with her own shopping.
Those little conversations never felt forced.
Just genuine.
Moving into the dairy aisle, he collected milk, butter, yoghurt and several blocks of mature cheddar cheese.
Then eggs.
Wholegrain bread.
Fresh pasta.
Chicken breast.
A packet of coffee beans.
Breakfast cereal.
By the time he reached the pet section, the trolley was already beginning to fill.
Rows upon rows of colourful packaging lined the shelves.
Cheddar had become surprisingly selective over the years.
Francesco immediately recognised the familiar blue bag Leah usually bought.
"There you are."
He placed two large bags into the trolley.
"Someone should be happy."
As he turned toward the next aisle, he noticed several children standing together about twenty feet away.
Four of them.
Probably between eight and twelve years old.
Each wearing winter coats.
One wore an Arsenal scarf wrapped almost twice around his neck.
Another had an old Arsenal training top peeking out beneath his jacket.
They kept looking toward him.
Then back at each other.
Clearly debating something.
One little girl whispered urgently.
"You ask."
"No, you ask."
"I can't."
"You can."
"I'll be too nervous."
Francesco pretended not to notice immediately.
He remembered being young himself.
He knew exactly how intimidating approaching a professional footballer could feel.
Eventually the smallest boy took a deep breath.
"You know what…"
He squared his shoulders.
"I'm doing it."
His friends immediately followed behind him like nervous teammates preparing for a penalty shootout.
They approached slowly.
Very slowly.
Finally stopping a respectful distance away.
"Excuse me…"
Francesco looked up with an easy smile.
"Hi."
The boy swallowed.
"You're… Francesco, right?"
"I hope so."
The children giggled.
The joke immediately broke the tension.
"We… um…"
The boy looked back toward his friends for encouragement.
"We watched the match yesterday."
"Did you?"
All four nodded enthusiastically.
"You were amazing."
"Thank you."
The little girl finally found her voice.
"Would… would it be okay if we had a picture with you?"
"Of course it would."
Their faces lit up instantly.
One of the children's mothers, who had been watching from a short distance away, hurried over apologetically.
"I'm so sorry if they're bothering you."
"They're not bothering me at all."
Francesco smiled reassuringly.
"They've been very polite."
Relief washed across her face.
She quickly took one of the phones.
The children gathered around Francesco, all trying not to smile too widely.
"Ready?"
The camera clicked.
Then another.
Then one where everyone pulled funny faces because the youngest boy insisted it would be more memorable.
Afterward, Francesco crouched slightly so he was closer to their height.
"Anyone got something to sign?"
Four notebooks appeared almost instantly.
Along with an Arsenal shirt that had clearly been washed so many times its colours had begun to fade.
Francesco signed each one carefully.
Writing each child's name so every autograph felt personal rather than rushed.
"There you go."
The smallest boy looked at the signature for several seconds before looking back up.
"I'm going to keep this forever."
Francesco smiled.
"I hope you enjoy watching many more Arsenal matches."
"We will!"
"And keep playing football yourselves."
"We do!"
"Good."
He gently ruffled the youngest boy's hair before standing again.
The children's mother thanked him several times.
"You've absolutely made their week."
"I'm glad."
"No… honestly."
"They'll be talking about this for months."
The children waved excitedly as they left.
"So long, Francesco!"
"Bye!"
"Good luck next game!"
"You too."
One of the nearby cashiers had watched the whole exchange.
She quietly smiled to herself before returning to scanning groceries.
It was a small moment.
Nothing spectacular.
Yet somehow those moments always stayed with Francesco longer than the goals sometimes did.
Football wasn't only about trophies.
Sometimes it was simply making a child's day.
After collecting the final few items on Leah's list, Francesco headed toward the self-checkout area.
Several customers wished him luck for the remainder of the season.
One man jokingly asked him to score another hat-trick next weekend.
"I'll do my best."
The groceries were packed neatly into reusable bags.
Receipt folded into his wallet.
Mission accomplished.
Back in the underground car park, he loaded everything carefully into the BMW's boot, making sure Cheddar's dog food sat securely on top rather than being crushed beneath heavier bags.
The engine came back to life with its familiar deep growl.
Leaving the supermarket behind, Francesco drove through Richmond's quiet residential streets toward home.
The closer he came to the mansion, the more relaxed he felt.
Home always had that effect.
The tall entrance gates slowly opened as the car approached.
He drove up the long gravel driveway lined with neatly trimmed hedges.
The house stood exactly as he had left it.
Elegant.
Peaceful.
Waiting.
Francesco eased the BMW into the garage and switched off the engine.
Silence settled once again.
He opened the boot and lifted out several shopping bags, balancing them carefully in both hands.
Another trip would probably be needed.
But he was determined to carry as much as possible at once.
He nudged the kitchen door open with his shoulder.
Immediately the warm aroma of breakfast filled the house.
Freshly toasted bread.
Crispy bacon.
Eggs sizzling gently in a pan.
The rich smell of coffee drifted through the air.
It felt completely different from hotel breakfasts and restaurant dinners.
It smelled like home.
Leah stood at the kitchen island wearing one of his oversized Arsenal training tops over comfortable leggings, her hair tied into a loose ponytail as she concentrated on the frying pan in front of her.
She turned at the sound of the door opening.
A bright smile immediately spread across her face.
"There you are."
"I come bearing supplies."
Francesco lifted the grocery bags with an exaggerated grin.
Leah laughed.
"My hero."
"The supermarket survived."
"Barely?"
"Barely."
She walked over and kissed him softly before helping take a few of the heavier bags from his hands.
"I had to use almost the last of everything," she admitted, glancing back toward the breakfast she had been preparing.
"The fridge was looking very empty."
Francesco looked across the kitchen counter.
She had somehow transformed those last remaining ingredients into a breakfast that looked every bit as inviting as anything they had eaten during the away trip.
Golden scrambled eggs.
Crispy bacon.
Fresh toast.
Sliced tomatoes.
Grilled mushrooms.
A bowl of fruit.
Two mugs of freshly brewed coffee waiting on the table.
He smiled to himself.
Winning 5–0 in the Premier League had been a wonderful feeling.
Walking into his home, grocery bags in his hands, while Leah prepared breakfast with the last ingredients they had left as somehow that felt just as rewarding.
______________________________________________
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