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The first leg of Arsenal's UEFA Champions League Round of 16 tie awaited under the lights of the Estádio do Dragão.
Matchday arrived with a different kind of feeling.
It wasn't nervousness.
Not fear.
It was anticipation.
The sort that only the UEFA Champions League could create.
Before dawn had properly broken over Porto, the Arsenal team hotel was already beginning to stir. Staff moved quietly through the corridors, making sure breakfast was ready. Nutritionists checked meal plans one last time. Kit managers loaded the final equipment onto the team bus.
For the players, the routine was almost comforting.
Wake up.
Eat together.
Prepare together.
Compete together.
Francesco stood by the window of his hotel room for a few moments before getting dressed.
The city looked peaceful beneath the soft Portuguese morning light.
The Douro River shimmered in the distance.
People walked along the streets below, beginning another ordinary day.
For Arsenal, however, there was nothing ordinary about today.
Tonight they would begin another Champions League knockout campaign.
One mistake could change everything.
One moment of brilliance could do exactly the same.
A knock sounded at his door.
"Breakfast," Walker called from the hallway.
"You planning to eat the entire hotel again?"
Francesco laughed as he opened the door.
"Only if you leave me something."
Walker looked offended.
"I always leave something."
Robertson appeared behind him carrying a cup of coffee.
"He leaves disappointment."
Walker pointed dramatically.
"I've been bullied all week."
"No," Robertson replied.
"You've been corrected."
The three walked towards the dining room together.
Even on European nights, some things never changed.
Breakfast was relaxed.
Nobody talked tactics.
There would be plenty of time for that later.
Instead conversations drifted naturally between football, family and the previous evening's training session.
Alexis sat beside Özil discussing Porto's defensive structure while Kanté quietly listened.
Van Dijk exchanged a few words with Koscielny about set-piece responsibilities.
Wenger moved calmly between tables, speaking briefly to different players.
No long speeches.
No unnecessary pressure.
Just quiet confidence.
After breakfast the players returned to their rooms for several hours.
Some watched television.
Others slept.
Several reviewed tactical videos provided by the analysts.
Francesco spent part of the afternoon studying clips of Porto's centre-backs.
Marcano.
Diego Reyes.
Their positioning.
Their habits.
The spaces that occasionally opened between them.
Every detail mattered.
As evening approached, the atmosphere slowly began to change.
Suit jackets replaced casual clothes.
Travel bags were collected.
The familiar Arsenal tracksuits appeared once again.
Outside, the team bus waited.
Its engine already running.
The players climbed aboard one after another.
Nobody spoke much.
Headphones appeared.
Eyes focused out of the windows.
Even Walker seemed unusually quiet.
Robertson noticed immediately.
"You alright?"
Walker nodded.
"Champions League."
Robertson smiled.
"Different, isn't it?"
"It always is."
Francesco sat near the front beside Wenger.
As the bus pulled away from the hotel, police motorcycles immediately moved into position ahead of them.
Blue lights flashed through the streets.
Traffic parted.
The journey towards the Estádio do Dragão had begun.
Outside, Porto supporters were already gathering around cafés and public squares.
Blue and white scarves filled the streets.
Arsenal supporters could also be spotted, proudly wearing red and white despite being heavily outnumbered.
Everywhere the same excitement could be felt.
Tonight Europe returned.
Almost thirty minutes later, the stadium finally appeared.
The Estádio do Dragão rose proudly above the surrounding streets.
Its floodlights illuminated the Portuguese evening sky.
Thousands of supporters already surrounded the entrances.
As the Arsenal bus turned into the secure entrance, a loud roar greeted the visitors.
Porto supporters waved flags and scarves.
Some applauded respectfully.
Others attempted to intimidate the away side with whistles and chants.
Inside the coach nobody reacted.
They had experienced this many times before.
Walker looked through the window.
"They've turned up."
Van Dijk smiled.
"So have we."
The bus came to a gentle stop beneath the players' entrance.
The doors opened.
One by one, Arsenal's squad stepped into the cool evening air before disappearing down the tunnel.
Immediately the noise became muffled.
Concrete corridors replaced roaring supporters.
The familiar scent of fresh grass drifted inside.
Champions League matchday had truly begun.
The away dressing room had already been prepared perfectly.
Every shirt hung neatly inside each locker.
Every pair of boots had been polished.
The Champions League logo decorated the centre of the room.
Francesco stopped briefly in front of his place.
Captain.
Number 9.
Everything ready.
He smiled quietly before beginning to change into his training kit.
Around him, the room carried its usual pre-match rhythm.
Tape wrapped around ankles.
Music played softly through a speaker.
Players stretched while chatting quietly.
Walker pulled on his training top before looking towards Robertson.
"If I score tonight…"
Robertson interrupted immediately.
"I'll retire."
"You don't even know what I was going to say."
"I've heard enough."
Alexis laughed loudly.
"I think that's fair."
Walker shrugged.
"You all lack imagination."
The laughter eased some of the tension.
Only for a moment.
Then Tony Colbert entered.
"Five minutes, gentlemen."
Immediately conversations stopped.
Training jackets zipped up.
Everyone stood together.
Wenger nodded once.
"Let's go."
The tunnel leading towards the pitch echoed beneath their footsteps.
Then, as Arsenal emerged into the stadium for the warm-up, the full sound hit them.
Over fifty thousand Porto supporters created an incredible atmosphere.
Blue and white flags covered almost every stand.
Songs echoed continuously around the Estádio do Dragão.
The small section of travelling Arsenal supporters answered with chants of their own.
Francesco paused for just a second.
Champions League nights never lost their magic.
The pitch looked immaculate beneath the floodlights.
Every blade of grass perfectly cut.
Every line freshly painted.
This was the stage where Europe's biggest matches were played.
Warm-ups began immediately.
Fitness coaches led dynamic stretches before players moved into passing drills.
The ball zipped quickly across the surface.
One touch.
Two touches.
Constant movement.
Özil and Francesco exchanged quick combinations near the edge of the penalty area.
Alexis joined them moments later.
Then Gnabry.
The four attackers worked instinctively together.
Walker and Robertson repeatedly sprinted down the flanks, practising overlapping runs.
Further back, Čech prepared separately with the goalkeeping coaches, throwing himself from post to post while comfortably stopping powerful efforts.
At the opposite end, Porto goalkeeper Iker Casillas worked through his own routine.
Wenger watched quietly from the touchline.
Occasionally making small notes.
Occasionally exchanging a few words with Steve Bould.
Nothing dramatic.
Just careful observation.
After nearly thirty minutes the warm-up came to an end.
The Arsenal players applauded the travelling supporters before jogging back towards the tunnel.
Now came the final preparation.
Inside the dressing room the atmosphere transformed completely.
Training kits disappeared.
Match shirts replaced them.
Studs were tightened.
Shin pads secured.
Silence gradually settled across the room.
Francesco carefully pulled on the captain's armband before sitting quietly for a moment.
Across the room Wenger stepped towards the tactical board.
Every eye immediately turned towards him.
"We'll play our usual 4-2-3-1."
His marker moved across the board.
"Petr."
"You're in goal."
Čech nodded calmly.
"The back four."
"Robertson."
"Van Dijk."
"Koscielny."
"Walker."
Each defender acknowledged him.
"In midfield…"
"Granit."
"N'Golo."
"You'll protect the defence."
Both nodded.
Wenger continued.
"Mesut."
"You'll play as our central attacking midfielder."
Özil smiled.
"Understood."
He looked towards the flanks.
"Alexis."
"Left."
"Sergi."
"Right."
The two wingers exchanged determined looks.
Finally Wenger turned towards Francesco.
"Our striker."
"Our captain."
"You'll lead us."
Francesco answered simply.
"Yes, boss."
Wenger folded his arms.
"Porto will start aggressively."
"They'll press."
"They'll feed off this crowd."
He drew several arrows across the tactical board.
"Stay patient."
"If we beat their first line…"
"The spaces will appear."
His eyes travelled around the room.
"This is the Champions League."
"Enjoy it."
"But compete."
The manager stepped back.
No shouting.
No emotional speech.
Just belief.
Francesco stood first.
He looked around the dressing room.
"Together."
Every player answered.
"Together."
The referee's assistant appeared outside the door.
"It's time."
The Arsenal players formed a single line behind their captain.
As they entered the tunnel, Porto's players were already waiting opposite them.
Héctor Herrera stood at the front wearing the captain's armband.
He caught Francesco's eye and smiled respectfully.
"Good luck."
"You too."
Children carrying Champions League flags walked into position ahead of both teams.
The referee checked his watch.
The tunnel doors opened.
An explosion of noise greeted everyone.
The players stepped onto the pitch beneath the brilliant floodlights.
Moments later they lined up beside the referees.
Then the famous music began.
The UEFA Champions League anthem echoed around the Estádio do Dragão.
Even after years of hearing it, the feeling remained exactly the same.
Goosebumps.
Supporters raised scarves into the air.
Players stood proudly beside one another.
For a few unforgettable moments, nothing else existed.
When the anthem finished, both teams shook hands.
Francesco exchanged greetings with Casillas, Herrera and several Porto players.
Afterwards came the official team photographs.
The Arsenal starting eleven lined up together.
Front row crouching.
Back row standing.
One final photograph before battle.
Then Francesco and Héctor Herrera walked towards the centre circle.
The referee welcomed both captains before producing the coin.
"Tails."
Herrera called correctly.
Porto chose to kick off.
Francesco shook hands with both men before jogging back into position.
Everything was ready.
The referee glanced towards both assistants.
One sharp whistle.
The Round of 16 had begun.
Exactly as Wenger predicted, Porto attacked immediately.
Sérgio Conceição stood animated on the touchline, constantly urging his players forward.
"Press!"
"Again!"
"Keep going!"
Brahimi drifted dangerously inside from the wing.
Otávio searched cleverly for pockets of space.
Marega stretched Arsenal's defence with powerful runs.
Tiquinho constantly battled Van Dijk and Koscielny in the air.
The opening minutes belonged to Porto.
The home supporters roared with every attack.
But Arsenal remained calm.
Kanté covered enormous ground.
Xhaka slowed the tempo whenever necessary.
Walker and Robertson stayed compact.
Van Dijk organised continuously.
"Step up!"
"Stay together!"
"Watch the runners!"
Gradually Arsenal settled.
Then the balance shifted.
Özil began finding space between Herrera and Oliveira.
Alexis drifted inside.
Gnabry attacked the right flank relentlessly.
Francesco constantly occupied both Marcano and Reyes.
Porto's defenders found themselves chasing shadows.
Quick one-touch football repeatedly pulled them out of position.
Herrera and Oliveira struggled to contain Arsenal's midfield combinations.
Alexis, Gnabry and Francesco rotated intelligently.
Every attack looked dangerous.
In the seventeenth minute Arsenal struck.
The move began with Kanté winning possession deep inside midfield.
He immediately found Özil.
One touch later the German slipped the ball into Francesco's feet.
Instead of turning towards goal, Francesco cleverly shielded possession before noticing Alexis sprinting beyond the Porto defence.
Without hesitation he threaded a perfectly weighted through ball between the centre-backs.
Alexis timed his run perfectly.
Casillas rushed forward.
The Chilean remained composed.
A low finish rolled beneath the goalkeeper and into the far corner.
Goal.
The travelling Arsenal supporters exploded with joy.
Alexis sprinted towards the corner flag, roaring in celebration.
Francesco caught him first.
"What a run!"
Alexis laughed.
"What a pass!"
The scoreboard changed.
Porto 0-1 Arsenal.
The goal stunned the home crowd.
Porto attempted to respond quickly, but Arsenal had found their rhythm.
Every passing move seemed sharper.
Every attack carried purpose.
Then, in the thirtieth minute, came another moment of brilliance.
Gnabry collected possession near the halfway line.
One Porto defender stepped forward.
The German skipped past him effortlessly.
Another challenged.
A quick change of direction left him behind.
Herrera attempted to close the space.
Too late.
Gnabry accelerated straight towards the penalty area.
Marcano hesitated.
Reyes backed away.
That was all the invitation he needed.
From just outside the box, Gnabry curled a magnificent shot beyond Casillas and into the top corner.
An extraordinary solo goal.
Even several Porto supporters applauded.
His teammates surrounded him immediately.
Walker shook his head in disbelief.
"Where did that come from?"
Gnabry smiled.
"I saw the space."
Arsenal led 2-0.
Porto tried desperately to regain momentum.
Brahimi forced Čech into another excellent save.
Otávio fired narrowly wide.
Yet Arsenal always looked the more dangerous side.
Eight minutes before halftime they struck once again.
Özil drifted effortlessly into space between Porto's midfield and defence.
He looked up only once.
Francesco was already making his run.
The German delivered a perfectly weighted pass.
Francesco met it in full stride.
One touch to steady himself.
A powerful finish across Casillas.
The ball crashed into the bottom corner.
3-0.
Francesco spread his arms before turning towards the away supporters.
His teammates arrived almost instantly.
Özil smiled quietly.
"I knew you'd be there."
"You always do."
The captain pointed towards the German.
"Perfect pass."
The remaining minutes of the first half became more controlled.
Porto continued fighting.
Arsenal stayed organised.
Čech comfortably dealt with crosses.
Van Dijk dominated aerial duels.
Koscielny intercepted everything that entered the penalty area.
Eventually the referee looked at his watch.
One long whistle echoed around the stadium.
Halftime.
Porto 0-3 Arsenal.
The Arsenal players walked calmly back towards the dressing room.
There were smiles, but no celebrations.
Everyone understood the tie was only halfway through.
Inside, Wenger waited until every player had taken a seat before stepping towards the tactical board.
He looked around the room with quiet satisfaction.
"We've been excellent."
He paused.
"But the job isn't finished."
Silence filled the dressing room as every player leaned forward, waiting to hear how the manager wanted them to approach the second half.
Wenger allowed the silence to linger for a few moments.
Nobody reached for a water bottle.
Nobody looked away from the tactical board.
Every player knew that European nights could change in an instant. A three-goal lead looked comfortable, but everyone in that dressing room had watched enough Champions League football to know that momentum could disappear with a single mistake.
The Arsenal manager rested both hands on the edge of the table.
"We've controlled the first half."
His voice remained calm, exactly as it always did.
"We defended well."
"We moved the ball quickly."
"And we punished their mistakes."
A small nod of approval followed.
"You've earned this lead."
The players listened intently.
Then Wenger picked up his marker and circled several areas on the tactical board.
"But we're not going out there to defend for forty-five minutes."
His eyes moved around the room, meeting every player one by one.
"I want another goal."
He paused.
"Maybe two."
The words hung in the air.
"The first fifteen to twenty minutes will decide everything."
He tapped the board again.
"If we score again early…"
"…their belief disappears."
"They'll have to chase."
"And once that happens…"
"…we control the match."
He looked toward the midfield.
"Granit."
"N'Golo."
"Keep winning the second balls."
"Don't allow Herrera or Oliveira time to play forward."
Both midfielders nodded together.
"We've got it."
His attention shifted toward the attacking trio behind Francesco.
"Mesut."
"Keep finding the spaces."
The German smiled faintly.
"I will."
"Alexis."
"Continue attacking their full-backs."
Alexis answered immediately.
"They're beginning to tire."
"I know."
Finally Wenger looked at his captain.
"Francesco."
"You've occupied their centre-backs brilliantly."
"Keep stretching them."
"But remember…"
"If we get another goal or two…"
"…I'll begin making changes."
A few players exchanged knowing smiles.
Rotation.
With the Premier League still demanding attention and another leg still to come in London, protecting tired legs made perfect sense.
Wenger folded his arms.
"I want everyone fresh."
"No unnecessary risks."
"Finish the game professionally."
Francesco stood first.
He looked around the dressing room.
"We've done forty-five."
"Now we finish the other forty-five."
Walker immediately clapped his hands.
"Let's bury this."
The response echoed around the room.
"Come on!"
A few minutes later both teams emerged once again beneath the bright floodlights of the Estádio do Dragão.
The atmosphere remained deafening.
Despite trailing by three goals, the Porto supporters refused to stop singing.
Blue and white scarves continued waving behind the goals.
Sérgio Conceição stood outside his technical area with folded arms, speaking constantly to his players.
He refused to accept defeat.
Across the touchline, Wenger remained his usual composed self.
Hands tucked inside his long coat.
Watching.
Waiting.
The referee checked with both assistants.
One sharp whistle.
The second half began.
Immediately Arsenal surprised everyone inside the stadium.
Rather than protecting their advantage, they attacked.
High pressing.
Quick passing.
Aggressive movement.
Exactly as Wenger had instructed.
Porto looked stunned.
Herrera barely had time to receive possession before Kanté was beside him.
Oliveira tried switching play only for Xhaka to intercept.
Walker and Robertson pushed almost to the halfway line whenever Arsenal had the ball.
The visitors refused to let Porto settle.
Five minutes after the restart, Özil almost created another goal.
A delicate outside-of-the-foot pass split Marcano and Reyes, sending Francesco racing through.
Casillas reacted brilliantly this time, rushing from his line to smother the chance before the striker could shoot.
The Porto supporters applauded their veteran goalkeeper.
Without him, the scoreline could already have been even heavier.
Conceição shouted continuously from the touchline.
"Higher!"
"Don't stop pressing!"
"Fight!"
His players responded with determination.
Marega drove into the penalty area before firing across goal.
Čech calmly dropped low to gather the effort.
Moments later Brahimi twisted away from Walker before delivering a dangerous cross.
Van Dijk rose highest once again, powering the header clear.
The Dutch defender landed and immediately pointed upfield.
"Push!"
"No sitting back!"
Arsenal obeyed.
Every player moved together.
Every line stayed compact.
The understanding between them had become almost instinctive.
By the fifty-eighth minute the pressure finally broke Porto once again.
The move started inside Arsenal's own half.
Kanté recovered possession after another heavy touch from Oliveira before laying the ball into Xhaka's path.
The Swiss midfielder lifted his head.
Alexis had already begun his run.
Without hesitation Xhaka delivered a magnificent diagonal pass over Porto's defensive line.
It dropped perfectly into Alexis' stride.
Marcano tried desperately to recover.
Too late.
Alexis controlled the ball with his chest before cutting inside onto his stronger foot.
Casillas narrowed the angle.
The Chilean never panicked.
A precise finish flashed beyond the goalkeeper and nestled inside the far corner.
Goal.
Porto 0-4 Arsenal.
The away section exploded into celebration.
Alexis sprinted toward them with both fists raised high before Francesco caught up with him.
"That's two!"
Alexis laughed.
"And I'm not finished."
Xhaka arrived moments later, smiling broadly.
"I told you I'd find you."
Alexis pointed directly at him.
"Perfect ball."
Behind them Wenger allowed himself another small smile.
That was exactly what he had wanted.
An early goal.
Now Porto looked completely deflated.
Heads began to drop.
Conceição continued encouraging his players, but the belief that had filled the stadium before kickoff had almost disappeared.
Still Arsenal kept playing.
They moved the ball confidently from side to side.
Özil dictated the rhythm beautifully.
Kanté seemed to recover every loose ball.
Walker and Robertson continued providing width.
Francesco never stopped running, dragging defenders into uncomfortable positions.
Then, just seven minutes later, another opportunity arrived.
Francesco burst through the middle before being brought down roughly twenty-three yards from goal.
The referee's whistle sounded immediately.
Free kick.
Excellent position.
Alexis immediately picked up the ball.
Francesco looked at him.
"You want it?"
The Chilean nodded confidently.
"I've got this."
Özil smiled.
"I believe you."
The Porto wall slowly took shape.
Casillas carefully adjusted his positioning before shouting instructions.
The entire stadium seemed to hold its breath.
Alexis placed the ball carefully on the grass.
Three steps backwards.
One deep breath.
The referee blew his whistle.
Alexis ran forward.
His right foot struck through the ball beautifully.
It rose over the wall.
Curled viciously.
Then dipped perfectly beneath the crossbar.
Casillas flew across his goal at full stretch.
He never came close.
The ball crashed into the top corner.
A masterpiece.
Silence swept across almost the entire stadium.
Only the travelling Arsenal supporters could be heard.
Alexis sprinted away with a huge grin across his face.
Hat-trick.
Champions League knockout stage.
Away from home.
His teammates surrounded him immediately.
Walker shook his head repeatedly.
"That is ridiculous."
Robertson laughed.
"He's unstoppable tonight."
Francesco embraced the Chilean tightly.
"You've earned every one."
Alexis smiled.
"One of my best nights."
The scoreboard now displayed the unbelievable score.
Porto 0-5 Arsenal.
Even several Porto supporters applauded the quality of the free kick despite the painful scoreline.
Some moments simply deserved appreciation.
Wenger glanced towards his bench.
Now came the second part of his halftime plan.
Protect his key players.
The fourth official received the substitution board.
Seventy-two minutes.
Number 9.
Francesco Lee.
Number 7.
Alexis Sánchez.
Number 11.
Mesut Özil.
All three names appeared in red.
Replacing them came Olivier Giroud, Alex Iwobi and Santi Cazorla.
As Francesco jogged toward the touchline, the away supporters rose together to applaud.
He exchanged a firm handshake with Giroud.
"Keep them under pressure."
Giroud smiled.
"I'll do my part."
Alexis hugged Iwobi briefly.
"Enjoy these minutes."
"I will."
Özil smiled warmly at Cazorla.
"Go have fun."
The Spaniard grinned.
"Always."
Wenger greeted each of his departing players personally.
"Excellent work."
Francesco nodded.
"Job nearly finished."
"Finish it from the bench now."
Across the field Conceição also made sweeping changes.
Realising fresh legs were needed, he withdrew Brahimi, Otávio and Tiquinho.
On came Majeed Waris.
Jesús Corona.
Gonçalo Paciência.
The Porto supporters applauded their substitutes, hoping they could at least restore some pride during the closing stages.
From the Arsenal bench, Francesco pulled on a thick training jacket before sitting beside Alexis and Özil.
Watching from the sidelines always felt strange.
Your legs still wanted to run.
Your mind still followed every movement.
Beside him Alexis accepted a towel from one of the medical staff.
"I don't get many Champions League hat-tricks."
Francesco laughed.
"You picked a good night."
Özil leaned back comfortably.
"I think the manager's happy."
Francesco looked toward Wenger, who remained standing calmly near the technical area.
"I'd say so."
On the pitch Arsenal never lost their shape.
Giroud immediately began battling physically with Marcano and Reyes.
Iwobi attacked tired defenders with fresh energy.
Cazorla slipped effortlessly into midfield, keeping possession almost at will.
Porto continued trying to attack through Corona and Waris.
For a brief spell the substitutes injected fresh life into the home side.
Corona skipped beyond Robertson before delivering a dangerous low cross.
Van Dijk intercepted.
Moments later Waris unleashed a powerful effort from distance.
Čech watched it carefully before pushing it safely around the post.
The Czech goalkeeper remained as composed in the eighty-fifth minute as he had been in the first.
Behind him Koscielny smiled.
"Still keeping us awake."
Čech shrugged.
"Part of the job."
As the clock ticked toward full time, Arsenal sensed there was still another opportunity.
Cazorla began dictating possession beautifully, his touch as elegant as ever.
Every pass seemed perfectly weighted.
Every movement opened another passing lane.
Then, in the eighty-ninth minute, he produced one final piece of quality.
Receiving the ball just outside Porto's penalty area, Cazorla danced away from Herrera with a clever body feint before lifting his head.
Giroud had already positioned himself between the two centre-backs.
The Spaniard delivered a delicate chipped pass into the heart of the box.
Giroud controlled it expertly with his chest.
Before the ball could touch the ground, he swivelled and struck a powerful left-footed volley.
The finish thundered past Casillas and into the roof of the net.
Goal.
Porto 0-6 Arsenal.
Giroud roared in celebration before being mobbed by teammates.
Cazorla reached him first.
"What a finish!"
Giroud laughed.
"What a pass!"
Even Wenger applauded from the technical area.
Every substitute had contributed.
Every player had remained focused.
The fourth official indicated only a small amount of added time.
Around the stadium many Porto supporters remained in their seats despite the scoreline, continuing to support their team until the very end.
Their disappointment was obvious, but so too was their loyalty.
Arsenal respected it.
Nobody celebrated excessively.
Nobody mocked the opposition.
Instead they simply continued playing professionally until the final whistle.
When it finally arrived, its sound echoed around the Estádio do Dragão.
Long.
Clear.
Final.
Porto 0-6 Arsenal.
For a moment, the Arsenal players simply looked at one another.
It had been one of their finest European performances in years.
Walker wrapped Robertson in a huge hug.
"I told you Europe was fun."
Robertson laughed.
"I don't remember you saying we'd win six."
"I was thinking it."
Kanté exchanged shirts with Herrera before quietly thanking him.
Van Dijk shook hands with Casillas, offering a few respectful words to the legendary goalkeeper.
Francesco walked back onto the pitch from the bench to congratulate several Porto players.
Herrera smiled tiredly.
"You were excellent tonight."
Francesco nodded respectfully.
"Thank you."
"I know how difficult these nights can be."
Conceição applauded his own supporters before disappearing down the tunnel, knowing his side now faced an almost impossible task in the second leg.
A six-goal deficit at the Emirates would require nothing short of a miracle.
Meanwhile the Arsenal squad gathered in front of the travelling supporters.
Scarves waved proudly high above their heads.
Songs echoed through the Portuguese night.
Francesco stood at the front with the captain's armband still around his sleeve, applauding every section of the away support.
They had travelled hundreds of miles to follow their club.
Tonight, they had been rewarded with a performance they would remember for years.
Behind them, Wenger watched quietly.
There was satisfaction on his face, but not celebration.
He understood football too well.
The tie was not mathematically over.
There was still another ninety minutes waiting in North London.
Yet even he knew the truth.
Arsenal had produced a breathtaking display from first whistle to last.
A 6-0 victory away from home had given them an enormous advantage before the return leg at the Emirates.
For Porto, hopes of reaching the quarter-finals had all but disappeared beneath the brilliance of Arsenal's performance.
For Arsenal, however, belief continued to grow that this might finally be the season they could make a genuine run at European glory.
______________________________________________
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: 40
Goal: 47
Assist: 6
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