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The Gunners were through to the next round of the FA Cup, and belief inside the squad continued to grow that this remarkable season might still have even greater moments waiting ahead.
Two days passed almost unnoticed.
The victory at Stamford Bridge had been satisfying, but Arsenal never allowed themselves the luxury of celebrating for long.
The schedule simply refused to slow down.
One day was set aside for recovery, giving the players a rare opportunity to spend time away from London Colney. Some stayed home with their families, others met friends for lunch, while a few simply enjoyed the quiet that professional football rarely offered during the middle of the season.
For Francesco, it was exactly what he needed.
The bruises from Stamford Bridge were beginning to fade, although his legs still carried the familiar heaviness that followed a demanding run of fixtures.
He spent the morning at home in Richmond.
Cheddar insisted on following him from room to room, seemingly determined not to lose sight of him after another trip away.
Leah smiled as she watched the dog shadow every movement.
"I think he believes you'll disappear again."
Francesco laughed, kneeling to scratch behind Cheddar's ears.
"I'll be back tonight."
Cheddar tilted his head.
"I'm not sure he believes you."
"He shouldn't."
Leah folded her arms with a playful grin.
"Neither do I."
Francesco chuckled.
"Only football could make someone suspicious because I go to work."
She walked over and kissed him lightly.
"It's not work this week."
"It's Wembley."
His smile softened.
She was right.
There were football matches.
And then there were finals.
Nothing quite compared to walking out beneath the famous arch with silverware waiting ninety minutes away.
The following morning, London Colney came alive once more.
Players began arriving earlier than usual.
Cars rolled steadily through the training ground gates beneath a pale winter sky.
There was a different atmosphere compared to previous weeks.
No one needed reminding what was coming.
The Carabao Cup Final.
Manchester City.
Wembley Stadium.
Every conversation eventually drifted back to the same subject.
Walker stepped out of his car carrying a breakfast smoothie.
He spotted Robertson walking across the car park.
"You nervous?"
Robertson looked sideways.
"For training?"
"For Sunday."
Robertson smiled.
"A little."
Walker nodded.
"Good."
"You?"
"I'm pretending I'm not."
Alexis joined them moments later.
"That usually means you are."
Walker sighed dramatically.
"I hate when people know me."
Francesco climbed out of his BMW just in time to hear the conversation.
"You've never hidden it particularly well."
Walker pointed accusingly.
"You too?"
Francesco laughed.
"I've known you too long."
The four players headed toward the main building together, passing members of the academy on nearby pitches.
Everywhere there was activity.
Ground staff prepared immaculate training surfaces.
Fitness coaches arranged cones and mannequins.
Equipment managers carried bags overflowing with footballs.
Everything had been carefully planned.
Today marked the beginning of Arsenal's preparation for the biggest domestic cup match of the season.
Inside the first-team meeting room, Wenger stood quietly at the front before the entire squad.
Steve Bould sat nearby with a folder full of tactical reports.
Boro Primorac was already writing notes.
The projector displayed a single image.
Wembley Stadium.
Nobody needed another reminder.
Wenger waited until every player had taken a seat.
"We've recovered."
"Now we prepare."
He clicked the remote.
Manchester City's recent matches appeared on the screen.
"They're an outstanding side."
"They'll ask questions of us in every area."
He looked around the room.
"But so will we."
The manager never raised his voice.
He didn't need to.
Everyone listened.
"This week is about details."
"Recovery."
"Fitness."
"Tactics."
"And concentration."
He paused briefly.
"No final is won on Thursday."
"But many are lost there."
The players understood exactly what he meant.
Preparation determined performance.
Training began outside shortly afterwards.
The crisp morning air carried just enough bite to remind everyone that winter had not quite disappeared.
The players jogged together through an extended warm-up before Tony Colbert took charge.
"Longer today."
"We're building toward Sunday."
Dynamic stretches followed.
Acceleration drills.
Balance work.
Core activation.
Everything designed to prepare bodies that had already endured months of relentless football.
Nobody complained.
Not even Walker.
Although, halfway through a sprinting exercise he looked across at Robertson.
"I preferred yesterday."
"The day off?"
"I was magnificent."
Robertson laughed.
"I heard."
"I completed every exercise perfectly."
"You slept."
"Recovery is important."
Even Tony Colbert couldn't suppress a smile.
"It is."
"But keep running."
Walker sighed dramatically before accelerating again.
Once the physical work ended, Wenger immediately shifted the focus toward tactics.
Full-sized goals were moved into position.
Training mannequins represented Manchester City's defensive shape.
The squad divided into two groups.
One worked on attacking movements.
The other rehearsed defensive organisation.
Francesco lined up with the attacking unit alongside Alexis, Özil, Walker, Robertson, Xhaka and Kanté.
Every movement had purpose.
Every pass demanded precision.
Wenger interrupted frequently.
"No."
"Again."
"Quicker."
"The third run."
"Watch the timing."
He walked into the middle of the exercise himself, physically repositioning players by a yard or two.
"Francesco."
"Start here."
The striker moved.
"Not because you want the ball."
"Because you want the defender."
Francesco nodded.
"I understand."
"Once he follows…"
"The space opens."
"For Alexis."
"Exactly."
The drill restarted.
This time everything flowed perfectly.
Alexis darted into the channel.
Özil slipped the pass.
Goal.
Wenger gave one satisfied nod.
"Better."
Nearby, the rotation players worked equally hard.
Giroud battled Mustafi in aerial duels.
Smith Rowe linked beautifully with Saka.
Wilshere and Ramsey rehearsed pressing triggers against Cazorla.
Nobody treated themselves as second-choice.
Not now.
Not with a final approaching.
Throughout the morning another group remained just as busy.
The medical department.
Wenger had spoken to them before training even began.
"I want every player assessed."
"No assumptions."
"If someone isn't fully fit…"
"I need to know."
The club doctor nodded.
"We'll examine everyone."
Head physiotherapist Colin Lewin had already organised the schedule.
Every player rotated through the medical room before or after training.
Mobility tests.
Muscle assessments.
Joint stability.
Hydration measurements.
Fatigue monitoring.
Even players who insisted they felt perfectly healthy were examined thoroughly.
Francesco finished his tactical session before reporting inside.
The doctor smiled.
"Take a seat."
"How are you feeling?"
"Tired."
"But good."
"Any tightness?"
"My calves after Chelsea."
The physiotherapist made a note.
"Nothing unusual."
Several strength tests followed.
Single-leg balance.
Hamstring flexibility.
Hip mobility.
Everything was measured carefully.
Finally Colin Lewin looked up.
"You're fine."
"A little fatigue."
"Nothing unexpected."
"We'll adjust tomorrow's workload slightly."
Francesco nodded appreciatively.
"Thank you."
Nearby Alexis completed similar assessments.
Van Dijk underwent additional monitoring after several physical battles against Porto and Chelsea.
Kanté somehow passed every endurance measurement with almost unbelievable results.
One staff member looked at the numbers twice.
"I'm beginning to think you're not human."
Kanté smiled shyly.
"I get that sometimes."
While the players continued training, Wenger disappeared into his office with Steve Bould, Boro Primorac and the club's performance analysts.
Coffee cups sat untouched on the table.
A magnetic tactics board filled one wall.
Several sheets of statistical reports lay spread across the desk.
Steve broke the silence first.
"So."
"The final."
Wenger nodded slowly.
"The question is obvious."
He picked up two squad lists.
One featured the regular Premier League and Champions League starters.
The other contained the players who had guided Arsenal through much of the Carabao Cup campaign.
Bould leaned back.
"The rotation side got us here."
"They've earned it."
Primorac agreed.
"They've beaten everyone we've asked them to."
The room fell quiet again.
It wasn't a simple decision.
Throughout the tournament Wenger had consistently trusted the squad players.
Raya.
Holding.
Mustafi.
Monreal.
Ramsey.
Wilshere.
Cazorla.
Giroud.
Iwobi.
They had carried Arsenal all the way to Wembley.
Dropping them for the final would send a difficult message.
Yet another reality existed.
The strongest available eleven also gave Arsenal their greatest chance of lifting the trophy.
Wenger rested his elbows on the desk.
"What do we owe?"
Steve looked across.
"The competition."
"The players."
"The club."
"And fairness."
The manager nodded thoughtfully.
He looked again at the names.
Giroud.
Raya.
Cazorla.
They had delivered in every round.
Another long silence followed.
Eventually Wenger spoke.
"I think they've earned the right."
Steve looked up.
"The rotation team?"
"Yes."
"They've brought us here."
"I don't believe it's right to remove them simply because it's the final."
Primorac smiled slightly.
"I thought you might say that."
Wenger continued.
"But…"
He tapped the second team sheet.
"The regular starters will be ready."
"On the bench."
"If the match changes…"
"…they change it."
Nobody argued.
It felt like the balance Wenger had been searching for.
Reward loyalty.
Maintain trust.
Protect squad harmony.
Without sacrificing quality.
Steve closed his notebook.
"I like it."
"So do I," Primorac added.
Wenger finally leaned back.
"The players must believe every competition matters."
"If you perform throughout the tournament…"
"…the final belongs to you as well."
Later that afternoon the coaching staff returned to the training pitch.
The session concluded with an eleven-against-eleven practice match.
Although Wenger never officially announced his team, everyone noticed the shape.
Raya.
Monreal.
Mustafi.
Holding.
Bellerín.
Ramsey.
Wilshere.
Cazorla.
Iwobi.
Gnabry.
Giroud.
Opposite them stood many of Arsenal's regular starters, including Francesco, Alexis, Özil, Xhaka, Kanté, Robertson, Walker, Van Dijk and Koscielny.
The intensity surprised even the coaches.
Nobody held anything back.
Challenges remained fair, but every duel carried genuine competitiveness.
Giroud outmuscled Van Dijk to score from a Cazorla cross.
Minutes later Francesco equalised with a clever finish after an Özil through ball.
Walker applauded sarcastically.
"So that's what I'm dealing with every week."
Giroud laughed.
"You should be grateful."
"For what?"
"I keep you sharp."
Walker pretended to consider it.
"I suppose that's true."
As training finally drew to a close, Wenger gathered everyone into a circle.
Faces glistened with sweat.
Breathing remained heavy.
The manager looked from player to player.
"This week…"
"…everyone matters."
He deliberately avoided mentioning a starting lineup.
Competition remained open.
Preparation remained the priority.
"Whether you begin the match."
"Whether you come from the bench."
"Whether you play five minutes."
"Or ninety."
"You prepare exactly the same."
His eyes briefly met Francesco's.
Then Giroud's.
Then Raya's.
Every player felt included.
Every player felt trusted.
"We win finals together."
"Never individually."
The squad responded with a collective nod.
As they began walking back toward the dressing room, Walker draped an arm across Francesco's shoulder.
"So…"
"What do you think?"
Francesco looked toward Wembley in his imagination.
The arch.
The crowd.
The trophy waiting beyond ninety difficult minutes.
"I think," he said quietly, "we've earned the chance to play another special match."
Walker smiled.
"And this one comes with a medal."
Francesco laughed.
"If we do our job."
Behind them, Wenger remained on the training pitch for a few moments longer, speaking quietly with Steve Bould while watching his players disappear inside.
The difficult decision about the starting lineup was almost made.
The rotation team, the group that had carried Arsenal from the opening round to Wembley, had earned the manager's trust.
His regular stars would be ready on the bench if the final demanded them.
It was a gamble built not on sentiment, but on belief in the entire squad.
The remainder of the week seemed to disappear faster than anyone expected.
When a cup final was still several days away, time always felt abundant.
Then suddenly, Wembley was almost here.
Every sunrise carried the squad one step closer to one of the biggest occasions of the season.
London Colney settled into a rhythm that balanced intensity with recovery.
Morning tactical meetings.
Training on the grass.
Lunch together.
Video analysis.
Gym work.
Medical assessments.
Then home.
The cycle repeated itself day after day, each session carefully designed to ensure Arsenal arrived at Wembley in the best possible condition.
Wenger remained meticulous.
Every detail mattered.
One afternoon he stopped play during a tactical exercise after a passing sequence had broken down.
"No."
The players froze.
"We do not rush because it is a final."
He picked up a ball himself.
"A final rewards calm minds."
He rolled the pass toward Cazorla.
"Santi."
One touch.
Another pass into Ramsey.
Ramsey immediately found Giroud's feet.
Giroud laid the ball into Smith Rowe's path before spinning behind the defensive line.
"There."
Wenger pointed.
"Simple football."
"The difficult part is trusting it."
The drill resumed.
This time the movement flowed naturally.
Even the younger players could sense that the manager was preparing them for more than Manchester City.
He was preparing them for pressure.
Away from the training pitches, the excitement outside the club continued to grow.
Every newspaper led with the same story.
The Carabao Cup Final.
Arsenal versus Manchester City.
Arsène Wenger versus Pep Guardiola.
Two of the most respected coaches in world football.
One trophy.
Millions watching around the world.
Every sports programme opened with discussions about the match.
Every radio station invited former players to give their opinions.
Every football podcast debated tactics late into the night.
Inside Arsenal's canteen, televisions hanging from the walls often replayed those discussions while players ate breakfast or lunch.
One morning Walker arrived carrying his tray before pointing toward the screen.
"Oh no."
Robertson looked up.
"What?"
"They're talking about us again."
Alexis smiled.
"They've been talking about us for weeks."
Walker sat down.
"I know."
"But now they're asking people to predict the score."
Francesco placed his coffee on the table before glancing toward the television.
A familiar presenter stood beside a large tactical screen.
Behind him appeared photographs of Wenger and Guardiola, separated by the Carabao Cup trophy.
"…it's difficult to ignore what Arsenal have done over the last two seasons," the presenter said.
"They've been the benchmark not only in England, but arguably across Europe."
Another pundit, a former England international, nodded.
"I agree."
"Manchester City have improved enormously under Pep Guardiola."
"They move the ball better."
"They're more aggressive in possession."
"They're beginning to resemble a Guardiola team."
He paused thoughtfully.
"But…"
"The one hurdle they still haven't cleared…"
"…is Arsenal."
Several statistics appeared beside him.
Arsenal unbeaten against City over the previous two years.
Multiple victories.
Goals scored.
Defensive records.
The numbers painted a clear picture.
The presenter turned toward another guest.
"So who wins on Sunday?"
The former defender smiled.
"I've learned not to bet against Arsenal."
"They've become the standard everyone else is trying to reach."
Walker grinned proudly.
"I like him."
Robertson laughed.
"Only because he picked us."
"Exactly."
The following afternoon, another television network hosted its own preview programme.
This time the discussion focused almost entirely on Guardiola's progress.
One analyst spoke with genuine admiration.
"Let's be fair to Manchester City."
"They're a much stronger side than they were eighteen months ago."
"Pep has transformed the way they play."
Clips of City's recent matches rolled across the screen.
Quick passing.
High pressing.
Fluid attacking football.
"No question," another pundit agreed.
"They're getting closer."
"But whenever they meet Arsenal…"
He shrugged.
"…they still come up short."
Francesco watched quietly from one of the sofas in the players' lounge.
Nobody celebrated hearing those opinions.
If anything, the players seemed slightly uncomfortable.
They knew football far too well.
Predictions meant nothing once the referee blew the whistle.
Kanté looked away from the television.
"They're making City the underdogs."
Alexis nodded.
"Pep will enjoy that."
Francesco smiled faintly.
"He'll use every word."
Meanwhile, the media attention surrounding Manchester City intensified as well.
Reporters gathered outside City's training ground every morning.
Questions inevitably turned toward one subject.
Could Guardiola finally beat Arsenal?
Journalists repeatedly reminded viewers that City had steadily improved throughout the campaign.
They possessed extraordinary attacking talent.
Creative midfielders.
Explosive wingers.
A squad capable of troubling anyone.
Yet one statistic refused to disappear.
They had still not managed to overcome Wenger's Arsenal.
One newspaper headline read:
CAN PEP FINALLY SOLVE THE ARSENAL PUZZLE?
Another declared:
CITY IMPROVING… BUT ARE THEY READY?
Back at London Colney, Steve Bould folded one of the newspapers before placing it on Wenger's desk.
"They're building quite a narrative."
Wenger barely glanced at the headline.
"They always do."
"You don't agree?"
"I don't disagree."
The Frenchman smiled gently.
"I simply don't care."
Steve chuckled.
"I thought you'd say that."
"The newspapers don't win finals."
"No."
"The players do."
As Wembley drew nearer, television crews began broadcasting live from outside the famous stadium.
Supporters wearing red and blue scarves stopped to give interviews.
One Arsenal fan smiled confidently at the camera.
"I respect City."
"I really do."
"But we've been unbelievable."
"Porto."
"Chelsea."
The football we're playing…"
He shook his head.
"I think Arsenal win."
Moments later a Manchester City supporter offered a different view.
"This is our time."
"Pep's built something special."
"We're stronger than people think."
"It only takes one match."
The presenter nodded.
"And that's exactly why cup finals are so fascinating."
Social media exploded with predictions.
Former footballers posted their expected line-ups.
Journalists debated Wenger's biggest decision.
Would he stay loyal to the rotation side that had reached Wembley?
Or would he unleash his strongest Champions League eleven?
One evening Walker scrolled through his phone while everyone relaxed after dinner.
"You should see this."
Francesco looked over.
"What?"
"Apparently I've started."
Robertson raised an eyebrow.
"According to who?"
Walker shrugged.
"Someone with two hundred followers."
Alexis burst into laughter.
"Congratulations."
"I didn't even know I'd been selected."
Francesco smiled.
"Maybe tell the manager."
Walker pretended to think seriously.
"Good idea."
"I'll show him the tweet tomorrow."
Robertson nearly choked on his drink.
"Please do."
"I want to see his face."
Not all the predictions favoured Arsenal.
Several respected analysts warned against complacency.
One former Premier League manager spoke during a late-night programme.
"I understand why people are choosing Arsenal."
"They've earned that respect."
"But this isn't the Arsenal of three years ago."
He pointed toward Manchester City's tactical board.
"This City team is evolving."
"They're pressing better."
"They're defending higher."
"They're more comfortable in Guardiola's positional system."
He looked directly into the camera.
"If Arsenal think they're facing the same Manchester City as last season…"
"…they'll be making a serious mistake."
Those comments eventually reached London Colney.
Francesco happened to hear them while leaving the gym.
He found Wenger watching the closing moments of the programme in silence.
"What do you think?" Francesco asked.
Wenger switched off the television.
"I think…"
He paused.
"…he's correct."
Francesco looked surprised.
"They have improved."
"So have we."
The manager picked up a folder containing tactical notes.
"Respect your opponent."
"Never fear them."
It was another simple sentence.
Another lesson.
Francesco carried it with him as he walked back toward the dressing room.
The final open training session before Wembley attracted an unusually large media presence.
Photographers lined the edge of the pitch.
Television cameras captured every sprint.
Every passing drill.
Every finish.
Supporters invited to watch from a small viewing area applauded whenever the ball found the net.
Giroud scored with a towering header.
Cheers followed.
Moments later Francesco curled one into the top corner.
More applause.
Walker immediately pointed toward the cameras.
"Make sure they get my good side."
Robertson answered without looking up.
"They're still searching."
Even some photographers laughed.
The relaxed atmosphere contrasted beautifully with the seriousness of the football itself.
Every exercise remained sharp.
Every player understood the significance of the occasion ahead.
That evening, another panel of pundits delivered their final predictions.
One by one, they revealed their choices.
"Arsenal."
"Arsenal."
"Arsenal after extra time."
"I'll say Arsenal 2-1."
Finally the presenter turned toward the last guest.
"You've gone against Arsenal before this season."
"What do you think this time?"
The former striker smiled.
"I've criticised them when they deserved criticism."
"But right now?"
"They're the best team in England."
"They're arguably the best team in Europe."
"You don't beat Porto six-nil away."
"You don't come from behind at Stamford Bridge."
"You don't dominate for two years…"
"…unless you're doing something extraordinary."
His prediction appeared on screen.
Arsenal 3–1 Manchester City.
Back in Richmond, Francesco watched only a few minutes before turning the television off.
Leah noticed immediately.
"You've had enough?"
He nodded.
"They've all played the game already."
"And?"
"The real one's tomorrow."
She smiled softly.
"I prefer that version."
Cheddar rested his head against Francesco's leg, completely unaware that one of the biggest matches of the season was less than twenty-four hours away.
Francesco gently scratched behind the dog's ears.
Outside, London slowly settled into another cold evening.
Across the city, thousands of Arsenal supporters were already preparing scarves, shirts and flags for the journey to Wembley.
Manchester City supporters were doing exactly the same.
Television studios had finished making their predictions.
Newspapers had printed their headlines.
Pundits had chosen their favourites.
Most believed Arsenal would continue the dominance they had established across England and Europe over the previous two years.
Most believed Wenger's side had too much quality, too much confidence and too much momentum.
Manchester City, however, arrived with their own growing belief under Guardiola.
They were improving every month.
They had not yet managed to defeat Arsenal.
But they believed the gap was closing.
Now there was only one stage left for both clubs.
One match.
One trophy.
One afternoon beneath the Wembley arch that would decide whether Arsenal's remarkable run continued or whether Manchester City would finally announce themselves as the new force ready to challenge the team everyone else had spent the last two years trying to catch.
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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: 41
Goal: 48
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