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...
And long after the final whistle, the lights remained shining over the pitch where Arsenal had just produced one of their most complete European performances of the season.
Then the Emirates had finally begun to quiet by the time Francesco left the stadium.
The floodlights were still shining over the pitch, but the stands were slowly emptying, and the great noise of the evening had been replaced by the quieter sounds of staff clearing equipment, journalists packing away cameras, and players finishing their final conversations before heading home.
Six goals.
A clean sheet.
A hat-trick for Alexis.
It had been one of those European nights that would stay in the memory for a long time.
But by the time Francesco reached Richmond, the match already felt strangely distant.
The house was quiet.
Cheddar greeted him with the usual enthusiasm before eventually settling down again, seemingly satisfied that his human had returned safely.
Francesco showered, changed, and eventually went upstairs.
He was exhausted.
Not injured.
Not uncomfortable.
Just tired in the ordinary way that came after ninety minutes of football, travel, adrenaline, interviews and the noise of a packed stadium.
He fell asleep quickly.
Morning arrived without an alarm.
Francesco stirred beneath the covers and remained still for a few seconds.
His eyes opened, but his mind was slower to catch up.
For a moment, he had no idea what time it was.
He stared at the ceiling.
Then he reached across toward the bedside table and found his phone.
The screen lit up.
9:00 a.m.
He blinked.
"Nine already."
His voice was still rough from sleep.
He unlocked the phone.
There were several notifications waiting for him.
Messages.
News updates.
A few social media notifications.
And then he noticed one from Arsenal.
Francesco opened it.
The message was from Wenger.
Squad update: entire first-team squad has the day off. No training at London Colney today. Recovery and rest. Return tomorrow as scheduled.
Francesco read it twice.
Then he smiled.
"No training."
That was unexpectedly welcome.
After a Champions League night like the one before, a full day without obligations felt almost luxurious.
He placed the phone back on the table and leaned into the pillow for another moment.
There was nowhere he needed to be.
No meeting.
No training session.
No tactical preparation.
No gym appointment.
Nothing.
Eventually, though, hunger won.
Francesco got out of bed and began his morning routine.
A shower.
Teeth brushed.
A quick change into comfortable clothes.
Nothing elaborate.
He ran a hand through his still-damp hair, grabbed his phone and headed downstairs.
The mansion was quiet.
Sunlight filtered through the windows, spreading across the hall and the staircase.
Cheddar was nowhere in sight.
Francesco followed the smell of food toward the dining room.
Then he stopped.
Breakfast was already waiting.
A plate had been placed neatly on the table, accompanied by a drink and everything he would need.
Leah had clearly been up for a while.
There was no note.
She hadn't needed one.
Francesco looked at the food and smiled.
"She knows me too well."
He pulled out the chair and sat down.
For the first few minutes, the house remained completely still.
No television.
No football commentary.
No phone calls.
Just the quiet clink of cutlery against the plate.
It was almost strange after the previous night.
Less than twelve hours earlier, he had been standing beneath the Emirates floodlights while more than sixty thousand people celebrated Arsenal's sixth goal against Shakhtar.
Now he was sitting alone at his dining table eating breakfast.
The contrast made him laugh quietly.
Football could consume every part of his life if he allowed it.
Today, however, there was no need.
He finished breakfast slowly, drinking the last of his drink before leaning back in the chair.
He checked his phone again.
Still nothing urgent.
Francesco looked around the room.
A full day.
He could stay home.
Play games.
Watch something.
Sleep again.
Or actually leave the house.
The last option sounded better.
He had been thinking about replacing some of his technology for a while anyway.
His laptop was still perfectly usable, but he wanted something newer.
He also wanted a tablet.
And perhaps a new phone.
The idea slowly became a plan.
Francesco stood.
"Shopping, then."
He went upstairs again to get ready properly.
A comfortable outfit.
A jacket.
His wallet.
Phone.
Keys.
He checked himself briefly in the mirror before heading back downstairs.
Cheddar appeared near the entrance just as Francesco was putting on his shoes.
The corgi looked up at him.
Francesco looked down.
"You're not coming."
Cheddar tilted his head.
"No."
Another tilt.
Francesco smiled.
"You'll be fine."
Cheddar remained unconvinced.
Francesco opened the door.
"I'll be back later."
The dog watched him leave.
Outside, the morning had settled into an ordinary London rhythm.
Traffic moved along the roads.
People walked toward shops and cafés.
Parents were taking children out.
Delivery vehicles stopped along the streets.
Nobody cared particularly that Arsenal had demolished Shakhtar the night before.
Or, at least, the city wasn't behaving as though the world had stopped because of it.
Francesco appreciated that.
He drove toward the shopping mall without any particular hurry.
The journey was peaceful.
No team bus.
No security convoy.
No stadium entrance.
No schedule.
Just himself behind the wheel, music playing quietly through the car speakers.
When he arrived, the mall was already busy.
He parked and walked inside.
The difference between the previous night's environment and this one was almost amusing.
Yesterday, every movement had been planned around a match.
Today, he was simply another customer deciding where to spend his morning.
He walked through the shopping centre and eventually found the Apple Store.
The glass entrance opened into a bright, spacious interior filled with displays.
Francesco slowed as he entered.
There were customers examining laptops, people testing phones, staff helping shoppers compare devices.
He walked toward the iPad section first.
The newly released iPad immediately caught his attention.
He picked one up.
Turned it over.
Tested the screen.
Opened a few applications.
The device felt noticeably different from the older technology he had been using.
A member of staff approached.
"Looking for something specific?"
"I think this one," Francesco said, holding up the iPad.
The employee smiled.
"Would you like to take a look at the different storage options?"
"Yeah."
They went through them.
Francesco considered it for a moment before making his choice.
"I'll take it."
The employee nodded.
"Absolutely."
Francesco continued browsing.
Then he reached the iPhones.
He looked across the different colours.
Black.
White.
Red.
Yellow.
His eyes stopped on the yellow model.
He picked it up.
The colour immediately reminded him of Leah.
He imagined her holding it.
She would probably pretend it was too bright.
Then she would keep it anyway.
He smiled.
"Do you have the iPhone XR in black?"
The employee checked.
"Yes."
"And yellow?"
"Yes."
"I'll take both."
The employee looked at him.
"Two?"
"One for me."
He held up the yellow phone.
"And one for someone else."
The employee smiled knowingly.
"Good choice."
Francesco laughed.
"She'll like the colour."
He didn't explain any further.
The yellow one was for Leah.
The black one was for himself.
It wasn't meant to be some grand gesture.
Just something useful.
Something new.
Something he thought she would enjoy.
He completed the purchase.
Then he remembered the laptop.
He walked over to the MacBook section.
The 15-inch MacBook Pro immediately caught his attention.
He opened the display model and tested the keyboard.
The screen was large enough for what he wanted without being unnecessarily bulky.
He checked the specifications with the staff member and asked a few questions.
After several minutes, he nodded.
"I'll take the 15-inch."
The employee prepared the order.
By the time everything was packed, Francesco had accumulated several bags.
The newly released iPad.
Two iPhone XR phones.
One black.
One yellow.
And a 15-inch MacBook Pro.
He looked at the bags in his hands.
"That escalated quickly."
The employee laughed.
"It usually does."
Francesco smiled.
He thanked them and left the store.
⸻
The trip back to Richmond was even quieter.
There was no urgency.
No reason to hurry.
The Arsenal squad had the day off.
For once, Francesco wasn't watching the clock.
He drove home with the shopping bags safely beside him.
When he arrived at the mansion, he carried everything inside.
The house was no longer empty.
He heard movement.
Then Leah appeared.
She had already returned home.
She looked at him.
Then at the bags.
Then back at him.
"What have you done?"
Francesco smiled.
"Nothing."
Leah raised an eyebrow.
"That is a lot of bags for someone who has done nothing."
He placed them carefully on the table.
"I went shopping."
"I can see that."
She walked closer.
"What did you buy?"
"A few things."
"A few?"
Francesco began taking the purchases out.
The iPad came first.
Leah looked at it.
"New iPad?"
"Yeah."
She nodded.
"Nice."
Then came the MacBook Pro.
Leah looked at him again.
"Francesco."
"What?"
"You went out for a tablet and came back with half the Apple Store."
He laughed.
"I needed a laptop."
"You needed?"
"Yes."
She folded her arms.
"And the phones?"
Francesco reached into one of the bags.
He took out the black iPhone XR first.
"This one's mine."
Then he picked up the yellow one.
"And this one's yours."
Leah stared at it.
For a moment, she didn't say anything.
Then her expression softened.
"You bought me a phone?"
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
She took it from him carefully.
The yellow colour immediately stood out against her hands.
She turned it over.
Looked at the front.
Then looked back at Francesco.
"You actually remembered I liked yellow."
"Of course."
She smiled.
"I do."
"I know."
There was no grand speech.
No dramatic presentation.
Francesco had simply seen the colour, thought of her, and bought it.
Leah looked at the phone again.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
She stepped closer and gave him a brief hug.
Francesco smiled against her hair.
"You like it?"
"I love it."
"That was the idea."
Leah pulled back and looked at the remaining bags.
"Anything else?"
Francesco glanced toward the new laptop and iPad.
"Just a few things for me."
"Of course."
She shook her head, smiling.
Then she looked down at the yellow phone again.
"I really do like it."
"I knew you would."
She slipped her hand into his.
For a while, neither of them said anything.
There was no match to discuss.
No tactical board.
No press conference waiting.
No Champions League anthem.
No roar from the Emirates.
Just the quiet of their home, the morning light coming through the windows, and a new phone sitting in Leah's hand.
The previous night had belonged to thousands of people.
Six goals.
A European victory.
A stadium full of noise.
Today belonged to something much simpler.
Breakfast.
A day off.
A little shopping.
And the two of them standing together in their home.
Francesco looked toward the clock.
Still plenty of day left.
Leah noticed.
"What?"
He smiled.
"Nothing."
She narrowed her eyes.
"That usually means something."
"Not today."
She laughed softly.
And for once, Francesco had absolutely no reason to disagree with her.
There was nowhere he needed to go.
Nothing he needed to prove.
Tomorrow football would return.
Training would begin again.
The next fixture would eventually arrive.
But today, the season could wait.
Francesco squeezed Leah's hand once before they walked further into the house together, leaving the shopping bags on the table behind them.
The yellow iPhone remained in Leah's hand.
And for the rest of the morning, the Emirates, Shakhtar, six goals and everything else that came with football felt very far away.
Then the days after the Shakhtar victory passed without drama.
For Francesco, that was exactly what he needed.
The morning after his quiet day with Leah, the freedom of the previous day disappeared almost as naturally as it had arrived. There was no rush back into football, but there was a schedule waiting for the squad at London Colney, and once Francesco stepped through the training-ground entrance again, the familiar rhythm returned almost immediately.
Boots were placed beside lockers.
Training tops were pulled on.
Staff moved between the dressing room and the pitches with clipboards, equipment and bottles of water.
The easy atmosphere of the day off gave way to the ordinary concentration of professional football.
Francesco felt no resistance to it.
If anything, he welcomed the structure.
The Champions League victory was still fresh in everyone's mind, of course. Six goals against Shakhtar, a clean sheet, Alexis' hat-trick and another convincing European performance were impossible to ignore.
But Wenger had never been particularly interested in allowing one result to dominate the following week.
The manager's message was simple.
Enjoy it.
Recover from it.
Then move on.
By the time the players gathered on the training pitch, the match already belonged to the previous chapter of the season.
The first session was lighter.
Recovery work came first, with the players divided according to their minutes from the Shakhtar match. Those who had played the majority of the game worked through mobility exercises, stretching and controlled conditioning, while the substitutes and unused players completed a more demanding sequence.
Francesco moved through the recovery work alongside Alexis and Özil, occasionally exchanging a few words with them.
Alexis was still receiving jokes about his three goals.
"You're going to keep that trophy beside your bed now?" Francesco asked.
Alexis looked over.
"What trophy?"
"Man of the Match."
Alexis smiled.
"Maybe."
Özil, walking beside them, laughed quietly.
"You should frame it."
"I have many trophies," Alexis replied.
Francesco raised an eyebrow.
"That's exactly why you're not getting any more compliments."
Alexis laughed and bumped his shoulder lightly.
The mood was relaxed, but once the recovery session ended, the players gradually dispersed.
The next day was different.
The intensity increased.
Passing drills came first, with the ball moving rapidly through compact areas. Wenger wanted clean first touches and quick decisions. The midfielders were repeatedly asked to receive under pressure before finding the next player.
Kanté was, as usual, relentless.
Every loose ball seemed to attract him.
Xhaka constantly called for teammates to move into better angles.
Özil operated between lines during the positional exercises, making the game look slower than it actually was.
Francesco spent part of the session working on combinations with Alexis and Gnabry before moving into finishing drills.
The coaching staff varied the exercises.
One-touch finishes.
Shots after cutbacks.
First-time strikes from the edge of the area.
Movement across the near post.
Delayed runs toward the penalty spot.
Nothing was done simply for the sake of repetition.
Every drill had a purpose.
The following afternoon brought tactical work.
The defensive unit practiced shifting together, with Robertson and Walker repeatedly stepping forward before recovering into their positions. Van Dijk and Koscielny communicated constantly behind them.
Kanté worked on protecting the space in front of the centre-backs.
Xhaka moved between supporting possession and providing cover.
Wenger stopped the exercise several times.
Not angrily.
Simply to correct small details.
"Again."
The players reset.
"Better distance between you."
They adjusted.
"Don't force the pass."
They started again.
Francesco watched from the attacking group, absorbing the same instructions.
The season had reached the point where small details mattered.
Arsenal were winning regularly, but Wenger knew that consistency came from maintaining standards when everything seemed to be going well.
By the end of the week, the workload had settled into a familiar cycle.
Fitness.
Ball work.
Tactical preparation.
Finishing.
Defensive organization.
Recovery.
Repeat.
There were jokes in the dressing room, arguments over music, brief conversations about families and plans for the evening.
But underneath it all was the same professionalism.
Francesco slipped back into that rhythm without difficulty.
He trained.
He ate.
He recovered.
He went home.
Then he returned the following morning.
The European victory became another result in the season rather than something the squad needed to keep celebrating.
And soon, the next fixture arrived.
Bournemouth.
Away.
The trip south was quieter than the journey home from a Champions League night.
There were no European ceremonies or late-night celebrations.
The players boarded their transport with the familiar focus that accompanied a Premier League away match.
Some listened to music.
Others watched videos or used their phones.
A few conversations moved quietly between the seats.
Francesco sat with his headphones on for part of the journey, looking through the window as London gradually disappeared behind them.
Eventually, the landscape changed.
The journey toward Bournemouth continued under a grey but calm sky.
When the team arrived near the Vitality Stadium, there was already a noticeable difference in the atmosphere.
It wasn't the scale of the Emirates.
It didn't need to be.
The stadium was compact, close to the surrounding streets, and the sound of supporters could already be heard outside.
Arsenal's players made their way inside.
The changing room was orderly.
Shirts hung in place.
Boots were arranged.
Medical staff moved around preparing the final details.
Francesco sat down and began changing.
There was less conversation than there might have been before an ordinary league fixture.
Everyone knew the job.
Another three points were available.
Nothing more dramatic was required.
After the manager's final instructions, the players headed out for their warm-up.
The pitch looked sharp beneath the stadium lights.
Passing exercises began at a steady tempo before progressing into movement drills and short bursts of acceleration.
Goalkeepers worked separately.
Čech moved through his preparation with the calm concentration that had become so familiar.
Francesco joined the finishing group.
A few shots went wide.
A few were saved.
One of Gnabry's efforts struck the inside of the post.
"Unlucky," Francesco called.
Gnabry shook his head.
"Next one."
The next one went in.
Francesco laughed.
"Better."
Eventually the warm-up ended.
The players returned inside for the final preparations.
Shirts were pulled on.
Socks adjusted.
Boots tightened.
The room became quieter.
Wenger entered for the last few words.
"Play our football," he told them. "Move the ball quickly, but don't rush. Make them defend. When we lose it, react immediately."
His eyes moved around the room.
"Stay compact. Stay patient. The match will give us moments. We don't need to manufacture them."
Francesco listened carefully.
Then Wenger looked toward him.
"Lead them."
Francesco nodded.
"I will."
The players formed behind the tunnel.
The sounds from outside had grown louder.
Bournemouth supporters were making themselves heard.
Arsenal's travelling fans answered.
The players walked out.
A brief exchange of handshakes.
The officials completed their final checks.
Francesco stood among his teammates, captain's armband secured around his arm.
Then the referee signalled.
Kickoff.
Arsenal immediately established control.
They didn't attack recklessly.
Instead, the ball moved from side to side, drawing Bournemouth's midfield across the pitch.
Kanté offered himself between the lines.
Xhaka dropped deeper.
Özil drifted into the spaces Bournemouth struggled to cover.
Francesco stayed high, occasionally dropping toward the ball before spinning behind the defence.
Bournemouth tried to press.
Arsenal played through it.
The first ten minutes were controlled rather than spectacular.
But the pressure gradually began to build.
In the 18th minute, Arsenal finally found the opening.
Robertson received the ball on the left and carried it forward before finding Alexis.
Alexis turned inside and attracted two defenders.
Özil immediately moved into the space behind them.
The Chilean found him.
Özil took one touch.
Then another.
Francesco had already begun his run.
The German slipped the ball between the centre-back and full-back.
Francesco reached it first.
He entered the penalty area from the left side and saw the goalkeeper advancing.
There was no need to overcomplicate it.
Francesco opened his body and guided the ball low toward the far corner.
The shot kissed the inside of the post.
Then crossed the line.
1–0.
Francesco slowed for half a second before turning toward the travelling supporters.
His teammates were already coming.
Alexis reached him first.
"Good finish!"
Francesco smiled.
Özil arrived a moment later and pointed toward the space where Francesco had made his run.
"That was the pass."
Francesco nodded.
"That was the run."
The celebration was brief.
There was still a long match ahead.
Bournemouth responded with more urgency.
Their midfield began pushing higher, and Arsenal were forced to defend for longer periods than they had during the opening stages.
A cross was delivered toward the near post.
Van Dijk cleared.
Another attack followed.
Walker stepped across to intercept.
Then Kanté won possession and immediately released Arsenal from pressure.
The match settled again.
Bournemouth were not passive.
They tested Čech from distance and forced Arsenal's back line to remain alert.
But Arsenal's structure held.
Whenever Bournemouth threatened through the wings, Robertson and Walker recovered quickly.
When their forwards tried to play between the lines, Koscielny and Van Dijk narrowed the space.
Arsenal's second goal arrived shortly before halftime.
Xhaka intercepted a loose pass in midfield and found Özil.
The German turned away from pressure with his first touch.
Francesco dropped toward him, taking a defender with him.
That movement opened space.
Özil continued forward.
Gnabry cut inside from the right.
Alexis moved toward the far side.
For a moment, Bournemouth's defensive line hesitated.
That was enough.
Özil exchanged a quick pass with Gnabry before entering the edge of the penalty area.
The return ball arrived perfectly.
Özil struck it first time.
Low.
Precise.
The goalkeeper reached for it but couldn't keep it out.
2–0.
Özil turned toward the corner with a rare burst of emotion.
Gnabry reached him first.
Then Xhaka.
Francesco arrived moments later, wrapping an arm around his teammate.
"Beautiful."
Özil smiled.
"Two minutes before halftime."
"Exactly."
Bournemouth restarted, but Arsenal saw out the remaining minutes without unnecessary risk.
At halftime, Wenger was pleased.
But there was no celebration in the dressing room.
"We have the advantage," he said. "Now manage it properly."
The players listened.
"Don't give them hope with a careless pass. They will come out harder. Let them come, but keep our distances."
Francesco nodded along with the others.
The second half began with Bournemouth pushing forward.
For the opening ten minutes, Arsenal absorbed pressure.
Čech made one comfortable save from a low effort.
Van Dijk headed away a dangerous cross.
Kanté tracked a runner almost forty yards before making the tackle.
The away supporters appreciated every defensive intervention.
Arsenal gradually began finding their passing rhythm again.
Then came the third.
It started deep inside Arsenal's own half.
Koscielny won the ball and gave it to Xhaka.
Xhaka switched play toward Walker.
The right-back had space ahead of him.
He carried the ball forward.
Gnabry moved inside, taking his marker with him.
Özil drifted toward the centre.
Francesco remained between the Bournemouth centre-backs.
Walker continued his run.
Nobody seemed to expect him to go all the way.
Then Özil received the ball and immediately returned it into Walker's path.
The defender was suddenly inside the final third.
He took another touch.
Bournemouth's midfield scrambled back.
Walker reached the edge of the penalty area.
He struck the ball firmly with his right foot.
It took a slight deflection off a defender.
The goalkeeper reacted late.
The ball flew into the net.
3–0.
Walker stood still for a second, almost surprised.
Then his teammates reached him.
Francesco was laughing as he grabbed him by the shoulders.
"You actually scored."
Walker grinned.
"I told you I could."
"No, you didn't."
"I thought about it."
That earned a laugh from Xhaka.
Even Wenger, watching from the technical area, allowed himself a small smile.
The remaining twenty minutes were about control.
Bournemouth continued trying.
Arsenal continued defending.
There were no reckless challenges, no unnecessary attacking gambles.
Francesco dropped deeper at times to help the midfield retain possession before moving forward again whenever Arsenal regained the ball.
Alexis nearly added a fourth after cutting inside from the left, but his effort was saved.
At the other end, Čech made another important stop late in the match.
Van Dijk and Koscielny continued organizing the defensive line.
When the final whistle came, Arsenal's players simply nodded to one another.
3–0.
Another clean sheet.
Another three points.
The players walked toward the travelling supporters.
The Arsenal fans applauded.
The squad applauded back.
Francesco stood beside Walker and Özil for a moment before turning toward the rest of his teammates.
There was satisfaction, certainly.
But nothing resembling the celebration that had followed the Shakhtar victory.
That had been a European night.
This was the league.
Important.
Professional.
Exactly what Arsenal needed.
Inside the dressing room, the mood remained upbeat.
Alexis congratulated Francesco.
Francesco congratulated Özil.
Walker was still receiving jokes about his goal.
"You're going to be asking for more shots now," Xhaka said.
Walker shrugged.
"If they keep going in."
Francesco laughed.
"Let's not get carried away."
The journey back to London was quiet.
Most of the players settled into their seats.
Some watched the match back.
Others simply rested.
Francesco looked out of the window.
Three goals.
Three points.
The campaign continued.
And by the time Arsenal returned to London, the focus was already beginning to shift.
Another few days passed.
London Colney became busy again.
Recovery followed the Bournemouth match.
Then came the first tactical session.
Then another.
The staff monitored workloads carefully.
Some players completed additional conditioning.
Others worked through recovery routines before returning to full training.
The football became sharper as the next fixture approached.
There was a different feeling around the training ground.
It wasn't immediately obvious.
Nobody announced it.
Nobody needed to.
The fixture list had already done that.
Tottenham Hotspur.
North London Derby.
At the Emirates.
The word began appearing in conversations.
Not constantly.
Just enough.
In the dressing room.
During meals.
On the training pitch.
The intensity of the sessions gradually increased.
Wenger's tactical work became more detailed.
The players practiced moving the ball under pressure, recovering their shape after losing possession and recognizing when to press and when to remain compact.
Set-piece work became more deliberate.
Defensive transitions were repeated.
Attacking patterns were rehearsed from different areas of the pitch.
The coaching staff demanded concentration.
One afternoon, after a particularly intense tactical exercise, Wenger stopped the players.
"This is different," he said.
The group became quiet.
"You know that."
He didn't need to explain the rivalry.
They all understood it.
"But emotion cannot make decisions for you."
His eyes moved across the squad.
"You can play with intensity. You can play with aggression. But you must think."
Francesco listened.
That was perhaps the most important part.
The derby would not simply be about enthusiasm.
It would be about discipline.
Tottenham would bring their own quality, their own movement, their own pressure.
Arsenal couldn't allow the atmosphere to dictate their football.
During one passing exercise, Alexis turned toward Francesco.
"You feel it already?"
Francesco knew what he meant.
"The derby?"
Alexis nodded.
Francesco glanced toward the pitch.
"Yeah."
Alexis smiled.
"It's different."
"It always is."
Nearby, Özil heard them.
"Just don't start fighting before the match."
Francesco laughed.
"No promises."
Özil shook his head.
"You are captain. You have to behave."
"That sounds like something Wenger would say."
From several metres away, Wenger's voice suddenly carried across the pitch.
"I heard that."
The players laughed.
Francesco looked toward him.
"See?"
Wenger simply raised an eyebrow before returning to the exercise.
The mood was lighter for a moment, but the focus quickly returned.
As the week progressed, the Emirates began to feel closer.
The stadium staff prepared for the fixture.
Matchday arrangements were confirmed.
Supporters were already discussing the game.
The players noticed the change in the media coverage, but inside London Colney, Wenger tried to keep their attention where it belonged.
Training.
Recovery.
Preparation.
Execution.
Nothing else.
Francesco understood the importance of that.
He had played enormous matches before.
Champions League finals.
International fixtures.
High-pressure Premier League games.
But a North London Derby had its own character.
The rivalry was local.
Personal.
Immediate.
There was no need to explain what victory meant to supporters who lived around the same streets, travelled on the same trains and encountered one another every week.
The players felt that expectation.
So did Francesco.
As Friday's session came to an end, the intensity remained high.
The squad completed one final tactical sequence before cooling down.
Francesco stayed on the pitch for a few extra minutes, passing the ball with Özil and Xhaka before eventually heading toward the building.
The Emirates waited at the end of the week.
Tottenham would soon arrive in North London.
And Arsenal would be waiting.
There would be no European anthem this time.
No neutral setting.
No distant opponent.
Just two North London clubs, one stadium, and a rivalry that needed no introduction.
As Francesco walked back toward the dressing room with his teammates, the conversations were quieter than usual.
Everyone knew what was coming as the first North London Derby of the season was almost here.
__________________________________________________
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, FA Cup 2016/2017, 2016/2017 Champions League, 2017/2018 Carabao Cup, Premier League 2017/2018, FA Cup 2017/2018, Champions League 2017/2018, 2018 World Cup, and 2018/2019 Community Shield.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 18
Goal: 21
Assist: 1
MOTM: 0
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 2
Goal: 2
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 59
Goal: 76
Assist: 6
MOTM: 7
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 11
Goal: 14
Assist: 1
MOTM: 7
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