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 when the biggest moment of the afternoon arrived, Arsenal's captain and superstar had delivered the winning goal that crowned the Gunners as Carabao Cup champions beneath the Wembley arch.
For several long moments after the final whistle, Wembley belonged entirely to Arsenal.
The noise refused to fade.
It simply rolled from one stand to another beneath the famous white arch, growing louder every time another player raised his arms toward the supporters.
Red and white scarves waved endlessly.
Children sat on their parents' shoulders, singing at the top of their lungs.
Older supporters wiped tears from their eyes, remembering previous Wembley triumphs while witnessing another chapter unfold in front of them.
On the pitch, it was impossible to tell where one celebration ended and another began.
Ramsey sprinted toward the Arsenal supporters before dropping to his knees with both fists clenched.
Bellerín and Holding chased after him, laughing like children who had just won a school tournament rather than a major domestic trophy.
Kanté stood smiling quietly while Alexis wrapped him in an unexpected hug.
"You never stop running," Alexis laughed.
Kanté shrugged modestly.
"I had a little energy left."
"A little?"
"You ran for three people."
Nearby, David Raya had both gloves raised above his head as he applauded the travelling supporters.
The goalkeeper had waited patiently throughout the competition for opportunities like this.
Now he was a cup-winning goalkeeper.
Steve Bould exchanged embraces with Boro Primorac before both men congratulated members of Arsenal's medical staff.
Tony Colbert shook hands with nearly everyone who walked past him.
Equipment managers celebrated just as enthusiastically as the players, knowing how much work had gone into preparing for afternoons like these.
For a football club, trophies never belonged only to the eleven men on the pitch.
They belonged to everyone.
Francesco remained standing near the centre circle for a moment, allowing himself to absorb everything.
The singing.
The confetti cannons already being wheeled into position.
The giant screens displaying one simple message.
CARABAO CUP FINAL
MANCHESTER CITY 2–3 ARSENAL
His eyes drifted briefly toward the scoreboard.
He smiled.
Then he turned away.
His attention shifted toward the Manchester City players.
Several remained exactly where the final whistle had found them.
Kevin De Bruyne stood with both hands on his hips, staring at the grass.
David Silva slowly applauded the City supporters who had travelled to Wembley despite the disappointment.
Gabriel Jesus sat on the turf, exhausted.
Otamendi bent over with his hands resting on his knees.
A few yards away, Vincent Kompany stood quietly, captain's armband still wrapped around his sleeve.
He had experienced triumph and heartbreak throughout his career.
Today belonged firmly in the second category.
Francesco didn't hesitate.
He walked directly toward him.
Kompany noticed him approaching and offered a tired smile.
"Congratulations."
Francesco extended his hand.
"Thank you."
The Belgian accepted it immediately.
The handshake lasted longer than normal.
"You pushed us all the way."
Kompany nodded.
"So did you."
He looked toward the Arsenal supporters before letting out a quiet breath.
"I thought we'd done enough after making it two-two."
"So did I."
The two captains exchanged another respectful nod.
"There'll be more finals," Francesco said sincerely.
Kompany smiled.
"I certainly hope so."
"You deserved it today."
"So did you."
Neither man needed many words.
Footballers understood each other better than most people realised.
Sometimes disappointment didn't require speeches.
Only respect.
Francesco squeezed Kompany's shoulder before moving on.
He found Claudio Bravo standing alone near his penalty area.
The Chilean goalkeeper looked devastated.
His mistake had gifted Arsenal their second goal, and although City's equaliser had briefly rescued the situation, he knew that moment would stay with him for some time.
Francesco approached carefully.
"Claudio."
Bravo looked up.
His expression softened slightly.
"Congratulations."
"Thank you."
There was a brief silence.
Then Francesco spoke quietly.
"One mistake never defines a career."
Bravo gave a faint smile.
"Easy for you to say after scoring the winner."
Francesco chuckled gently.
"I've made enough mistakes myself."
Bravo laughed despite himself.
"I'll remember that."
They shook hands warmly before parting.
A little further away, Sergio Agüero was congratulating several Arsenal players.
The Argentine had scored City's opening goal and remained dangerous throughout the afternoon.
When Francesco reached him, Agüero grinned.
"You always find a way."
Francesco laughed.
"I could say the same about you."
Agüero pointed playfully.
"Next time…"
"I'll score the last one."
"I'll try to stop you."
"Good luck."
They embraced briefly before going their separate ways.
David Silva received a similar handshake.
So did Bernardo Silva.
Fernandinho, already changed into a training jacket after being substituted, smiled warmly as Francesco thanked him for a difficult match.
One by one, the Arsenal striker made his way through City's players.
Not because anyone expected him to.
Because he believed victories meant more when respect remained afterward.
On the opposite touchline, Arsène Wenger was doing exactly the same.
The Frenchman waited patiently until Pep Guardiola finished speaking with several of his players before approaching.
For a moment the two managers simply looked at each other.
Two of football's greatest tactical minds.
Two men whose mutual respect had only grown through years of competition.
Wenger extended his hand first.
"Pep."
Guardiola accepted it immediately.
"Congratulations, Arsène."
"It was another wonderful match."
Pep laughed tiredly.
"I would have preferred a terrible one."
Wenger smiled.
"I suspected as much."
Both men shared a brief embrace before stepping apart.
Guardiola shook his head with an amused expression.
"You know…"
"I think I have a solution."
"Oh?"
Pep pointed discreetly toward Francesco, who was still speaking with Kompany in the distance.
"I'm going to ask the club to buy him."
Steve Bould, standing nearby, couldn't help laughing.
"So that's your plan?"
Pep spread his hands dramatically.
"If I can't stop him…"
"…perhaps I should play him."
Even Wenger laughed.
"I'm afraid that may be difficult."
Pep sighed theatrically.
"I expected you to say no."
"I had to try."
The Frenchman folded his arms.
"He belongs here."
Pep nodded.
"I know."
His expression became more serious again.
"Take care of him."
"He's a special footballer."
Wenger looked across the pitch.
"I intend to."
Pep offered another handshake.
"Enjoy tonight."
"You've earned it."
"And you."
"There will be another chance."
"There always is."
The two managers parted with genuine warmth.
Neither needed reminding that football's rivalries lasted only ninety minutes.
Respect endured much longer.
As Manchester City's players slowly made their way toward their supporters to offer thanks, Arsenal's squad gathered together near the centre circle.
The coaching staff began calling everyone back.
"Inside, gentlemen!"
"We'll be needed shortly!"
Tony Colbert clapped loudly.
"Come on!"
"The presentation won't wait forever."
Walker jogged over to Francesco with his usual grin.
"You've spent half your celebration consoling the opposition."
Francesco smiled.
"I'll celebrate all evening."
"They're hurting now."
Walker nodded thoughtfully.
"Fair enough."
Then his grin returned.
"But now…"
He pointed toward the tunnel.
"…I want that winner's medal."
"So do I."
The entire squad applauded the Arsenal supporters one more time before disappearing beneath Wembley.
The roar followed them all the way down the tunnel.
Even inside the concrete corridors, they could still hear thousands of voices singing.
"We've got our Arsenal back…"
Several players joined in.
Ramsey started singing first.
Holding followed.
Soon almost everyone was laughing and singing together as they walked.
The tension that had dominated the previous two hours had completely disappeared.
The dressing room looked very different from the one they had left before kickoff.
Staff members had already begun preparing for the post-match celebrations.
Ice baths waited in one corner.
Recovery drinks had been lined neatly across a long table.
Fresh towels had been placed at every seat.
Waiting above each locker was something else.
A neatly folded commemorative shirt.
White with gold detailing across the chest.
Across the front were the words:
CARABAO CUP FINAL CHAMPIONS
WEMBLEY STADIUM
Several players immediately noticed them.
Walker picked his up.
"These are nice."
Holding laughed.
"They're better if you've actually won."
Walker pretended to look offended.
"I had noticed."
Equipment manager Vic Akers smiled proudly.
"Go on."
"Get changed."
"We'll be back out soon."
Studs clicked against the tiled floor as players began removing their match kits.
The famous red shirts, soaked with sweat after ninety-five exhausting minutes, were carefully placed into laundry bags.
Tape came off aching ankles.
Ice packs appeared on tired knees.
Ramsey collapsed into his chair with a groan.
"I don't think my legs exist anymore."
Kanté looked across.
"They do."
"They're just tired."
Ramsey laughed.
"Easy for you to say."
"I think you could play another ninety."
The French midfielder smiled shyly.
"Maybe not."
Alexis overheard them.
"You're both wrong."
He pointed toward Francesco.
"He'd probably score another winner."
Francesco rolled his eyes.
"Can I at least sit down first?"
Laughter filled the room.
The pressure had vanished.
Now there was only relief.
And happiness.
Cazorla carefully folded the captain's armband before walking across to Francesco.
"You'll need this memory."
He handed it over.
Francesco looked at the band for a long moment.
"I only wore it for twenty minutes."
Cazorla smiled warmly.
"You wore it when it mattered."
The younger striker looked genuinely touched.
"Thank you."
"Keep it."
"For today."
Francesco hesitated.
"I can't…"
"You can."
"It belongs with the goal."
After a brief pause, Francesco nodded.
"I'll treasure it."
⸻
Nearby, Wenger finally entered the dressing room.
The conversations quietened naturally.
Not because anyone expected another tactical speech.
Simply because everyone respected him.
The manager looked around the room.
His players were smiling.
Laughing.
Changing into their commemorative shirts.
Exactly as they should be.
He folded his arms.
"I won't keep you long."
Several players looked up.
"You trusted each other."
"You trusted the plan."
"And today…"
"…you've been rewarded."
His eyes moved slowly around the room.
"Starting."
"From the bench."
"It made no difference."
"We won together."
There was a chorus of agreement.
Wenger smiled.
"The presentation stage is almost ready."
"So enjoy this moment."
"But remember…"
He glanced toward the closed dressing-room door, beyond which thousands of Arsenal supporters were still waiting.
"They're waiting for champions."
Walker immediately stood.
"Well…"
He looked around dramatically.
"I suppose we'd better not keep them waiting."
The room erupted into laughter once again.
Outside, Wembley staff worked quickly to transform the centre of the pitch.
The presentation platform was being assembled.
The red carpet carefully rolled into place.
The Carabao Cup trophy was polished one final time before being carried toward its position beneath the arch.
Everything was ready.
Now, all that remained was for Arsenal's players, dressed in their special commemorative champion shirts, to walk back out together and collect the medals and the trophy that they had fought so hard to earn.
The dressing-room door opened once more, and a wave of noise immediately swept inside.
Even after nearly half an hour, Wembley had lost none of its energy.
If anything, it had grown louder.
The Arsenal supporters had stayed exactly where they were, filling their end of the stadium with songs that echoed continuously beneath the famous arch. Every few seconds another chorus broke out, only to be replaced by another before the previous one had even finished.
Nobody wanted the afternoon to end.
Neither did the players.
Tony Colbert glanced down the corridor before nodding.
"They're ready."
Vic Akers clapped his hands.
"Come on, lads."
"It's time."
The room slowly emptied as Arsenal's players emerged wearing their white commemorative champions' shirts with gold lettering across the front.
The shirts looked different from the familiar red and white they had battled in only minutes earlier.
Cleaner.
Lighter.
Already carrying the feeling of history.
Ramsey stretched his shoulders as they walked.
"I still can't believe we're doing this again."
Holding smiled.
"It never gets old."
"I hope it never does."
Behind them, Cazorla adjusted the sleeves of his shirt before glancing sideways at Francesco.
"You've still got the armband."
Francesco looked down.
He had almost forgotten.
The blue captain's armband still rested around his left arm beneath the commemorative shirt.
He smiled.
"I think I'll leave it there until the presentation."
Cazorla nodded approvingly.
"It belongs there."
The squad made its way back through the tunnel together.
This time there was no tension.
No anxious silence.
Only excitement.
As they stepped back into the daylight, another enormous roar greeted them.
Nearly every Arsenal supporter was still standing.
Thousands of phones lit up around the stadium as supporters tried to capture every possible moment.
Children leaned over railings waving scarves.
Entire families applauded every player who emerged from the tunnel.
Francesco looked around slowly.
He tried to take everything in.
The sea of red.
The banners.
The smiles.
These moments disappeared far too quickly.
He had learned that much already.
Near the halfway line, several television crews were waiting for the players before the medal ceremony began.
Broadcasters from England, Spain, Italy, Germany and dozens of other countries were preparing live coverage while Wembley staff completed the final touches on the presentation stage.
One production assistant hurried toward Arsenal's media officer.
"We only need two quick interviews."
The media officer nodded.
"Wenger first."
"And Francesco after."
The French manager smiled when he saw the microphone approaching.
"I suppose this is unavoidable."
The reporter laughed.
"I'm afraid so."
Within seconds the familiar television countdown began.
"We're live in five…"
"Four…"
"Three…"
The presenter smiled directly into the camera.
"We're joined now by Arsène Wenger following another remarkable Wembley victory."
"Congratulations."
"Thank you."
Wenger's expression remained calm, although there was unmistakable pride behind his eyes.
"It was a wonderful football match."
"You trusted the players who brought Arsenal to this final."
"Many people expected you to start some of your bigger names."
"You stayed loyal."
The Frenchman nodded.
"I believed they deserved that trust."
"They earned the opportunity."
"They played throughout this competition."
"They deserved to finish it."
"And they rewarded that faith."
The interviewer smiled.
"Even when Manchester City equalised?"
"I never felt panic."
"They're an excellent side."
"We knew there would be difficult moments."
"What pleased me most…"
"…was our response."
He glanced briefly toward his players, who were laughing together nearby.
"They remained together."
"That is what wins finals."
The reporter smiled again.
"And Francesco?"
"He came from the bench."
"He captained the team."
"And scored the winner."
Wenger's smile widened.
"I think that speaks for itself."
"He accepted beginning on the bench without complaint."
"He entered the match exactly as the team required."
"That is leadership."
"Not words."
"Actions."
The interviewer extended a hand.
"Congratulations once again."
"Thank you."
As Wenger stepped away, another member of the broadcast team approached Francesco.
"You've got a minute?"
Francesco laughed.
"I think so."
The microphone was clipped into place.
Another countdown followed.
Then the presenter spoke.
"We're delighted to be joined by Arsenal's match-winner…"
"…and captain for the closing stages…"
"Francesco."
"Congratulations."
"Thank you very much."
The presenter smiled.
"What are you feeling right now?"
Francesco looked around Wembley before answering.
"It's difficult to describe."
"You dream about finals when you're a child."
"You imagine scoring."
"You imagine lifting trophies."
"But when it actually happens…"
"…it's even better than you imagined."
The interviewer nodded.
"You started on the bench."
"Was that difficult?"
"Not at all."
"The players who started brought us here."
"They deserved to play."
"My job was simple."
"Help the team whenever I was needed."
"You certainly did."
The presenter laughed.
"You scored the winning goal."
Francesco smiled.
"I finished the move."
"But look at the pass."
He pointed toward Cazorla.
"Santi saw something nobody else saw."
"And everyone contributed today."
"Jack's pressing."
"Olivier's goal."
"David's saves."
"Rob."
"Shkodran."
"Aaron."
"It belongs to all of us."
The presenter seemed genuinely impressed.
"One final question."
"The trophy."
"What will it mean?"
Francesco looked toward the presentation stage, now almost complete beneath the Wembley arch.
"It'll remind us what happens when everyone believes in each other."
The interviewer shook his hand.
"Congratulations."
"Enjoy it."
"Thank you."
As Francesco walked away, Walker immediately appeared beside him.
"You sound much cleverer on television."
Francesco laughed.
"I've had practice answering your questions."
Walker placed a hand over his heart.
"That hurts."
Robertson walked past.
"Not enough."
The three burst into laughter.
Meanwhile, Wembley staff worked with remarkable efficiency.
The final sections of the presentation platform slid into place.
A rich red carpet stretched across the grass toward the stage.
Television cameras repositioned themselves.
Photographers gathered in front of the podium.
The Carabao Cup itself stood proudly beneath the arch, polished until every light inside Wembley reflected from its silver surface.
One by one, players from both teams were called toward the presentation area.
Manchester City's squad returned first.
Although disappointed, they received warm applause from every corner of the stadium.
Pep Guardiola led his players respectfully.
They accepted their runners-up medals with dignity before standing together to applaud their own supporters.
The Arsenal players watched from nearby.
Francesco quietly clapped as well.
"They've had a brilliant tournament," he said.
"They have," Wenger replied beside him.
"They'll be back."
Finally, the stadium announcer's voice echoed across Wembley.
"And now…"
"…the winners…"
"…Arsenal Football Club!"
The response was deafening.
The Arsenal supporters exploded into another chorus of cheers.
The players looked at one another.
Walker rubbed his hands together dramatically.
"This is the best bit."
Ramsey laughed.
"You say that every time."
"Because it's true."
The line began moving.
At its front were members of the coaching staff.
Steve Bould climbed the steps first.
The FA President greeted him with a warm handshake before placing the winner's medal around his neck.
Bould smiled broadly.
"Thank you."
Boro Primorac followed.
Then Tony Colbert.
Vic Akers.
The medical staff.
Physiotherapists.
Analysts.
Every member of the backroom team received their medal to generous applause.
Wenger approached last among the coaches.
The applause somehow grew even louder.
The Frenchman shook hands respectfully before accepting his medal.
Instead of immediately walking away, he briefly looked down at it.
Not because it was his first.
Far from it.
Because every trophy still mattered.
Every one carried its own story.
Then came the players.
David Raya walked first.
The goalkeeper received a standing ovation from the Arsenal supporters after another excellent cup campaign.
He kissed his medal before joining the others waiting on the stage.
Monreal followed.
Then Mustafi.
Holding.
Bellerín.
Ramsey.
Wilshere.
Each player climbed the famous steps with a broad smile before accepting congratulations.
When Cazorla's name was announced, the noise rose noticeably.
The little Spaniard smiled almost shyly as the medal was placed around his neck.
He turned immediately toward the Arsenal supporters and applauded them before joining his teammates.
Gnabry.
Iwobi.
Giroud.
Alexis.
Kanté.
Walker.
Van Dijk.
Robertson.
Every player received the same embrace from teammates waiting on the platform.
The stage slowly filled with white shirts trimmed in gold medals.
Laughter.
Smiles.
Arms around shoulders.
Photographers worked relentlessly from below.
Only one player remained.
The stadium announcer paused deliberately.
"And finally…"
"…your captain…"
"…Francesco!"
The roar that followed seemed almost impossible.
His name echoed around Wembley from every side.
Francesco took one slow breath before beginning the walk.
He wasn't rushing.
Moments like this deserved to be remembered.
As he climbed the steps, the FA President smiled warmly.
"Congratulations, Captain."
"Thank you, sir."
The medal was gently placed around his neck.
It felt heavier than he had expected.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
He looked down for just a second.
Then back up.
The FA President reached behind the pedestal.
Waiting there was the Carabao Cup.
Its silver surface sparkled beneath the Wembley lights.
The President held it carefully before offering it toward Francesco.
"For Arsenal."
Francesco accepted it with both hands.
The metal felt cool against his fingers.
He paused briefly.
Not because he was uncertain.
Because he wanted to appreciate the moment.
Then he turned.
His teammates were already waiting in the centre of the stage.
Walker immediately shouted.
"Bring it here, Skip!"
Ramsey laughed.
"Get over here!"
Alexis was already clapping rhythmically.
The entire squad gathered tightly around their captain.
Some crouched in front.
Others stood shoulder to shoulder behind him.
Wenger remained just to one side with his coaching staff, watching quietly.
Francesco looked around at every face surrounding him.
Cazorla.
Giroud.
Ramsey.
Raya.
Holding.
Mustafi.
Kanté.
Alexis.
Every member of the squad.
Every coach.
Everyone who had contributed.
He tightened his grip on the handles.
The Arsenal supporters somehow became even louder.
Thousands began counting.
"Three…"
"Two…"
"One…"
Francesco thrust the trophy high into the London sky.
The reaction was instantaneous.
A deafening explosion erupted from the stands.
Golden and red confetti cannons fired from both sides of the stage, sending thousands upon thousands of shimmering pieces into the air beneath the Wembley arch.
Fireworks burst from behind the podium.
Smoke cannons filled the air.
The Arsenal players roared together.
"Yes!"
Walker leapt onto Ramsey's back.
Alexis hugged Kanté so tightly that the French midfielder laughed uncontrollably.
Giroud punched the air with both fists.
Cazorla looked toward the Arsenal supporters with tears beginning to gather in his eyes.
Wenger applauded quietly, his smile saying everything words could not.
Above them, the trophy glittered beneath the lights.
Around the world, television commentators struggled to be heard over the noise.
One voice from England rang out first.
"Arsenal have done it again!"
"They are the 2017–18 Carabao Cup champions!"
A Spanish commentator followed moments later.
"What a remarkable team!"
"Wenger's Arsenal continue their extraordinary era with another trophy at Wembley!"
In Italy, another broadcaster declared,
"Ancora Arsenal!"
"They come from behind twice and finish as champions!"
Across Asia, Africa, North America and South America, millions watched the same unforgettable image.
Francesco, wearing the captain's armband and winner's medal, standing beneath Wembley's famous arch with the Carabao Cup held proudly above his head.
Confetti swirling around him.
His teammates celebrating at his side.
Arsenal's supporters singing without pause.
It was more than a trophy lift.
It was another chapter in a remarkable period that had seen Arsenal establish themselves as the standard of English football.
The rotation side had justified Wenger's faith.
The substitutes had changed the match.
The captain had delivered the decisive moment.
And beneath the Wembley arch, surrounded by his teammates, coaching staff and thousands upon thousands of jubilant supporters, Francesco lifted the Carabao Cup into the afternoon sky as Arsenal were officially crowned the 2017–18 Carabao Cup champions.
______________________________________________
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: 42
Goal: 49
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