The King Of Arsenal

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(A/N: Hello Everyone! This is my new fanfiction, I hope you like it! I love football/soccer and decided to have a go with it! If some ask why you don't do another history based on like during the Napoleon era or Oda Nobunaga Warring States of Japan fanfic, I try to stir of history fanfic until my three kingdom was finished!)

Francesco Lee had always loved football, but fate had different plans. When he still on the youth academy in his playing days, a sudden knee injury ended his dreams. He often wondered if he could've done things differently. Little did he know, life had more in store for him.

One rainy evening, Francesco was walking home from work when he spotted a little girl running across the street, oblivious to the speeding truck headed her way. Without thinking, he dashed forward, pushing her out of harm's way. But the truck couldn't stop in time. The world went black for Francesco.

When he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by nothingness—a boundless, empty void. Before he could panic, a warm, radiant figure appeared. The figure smiled at him, exuding a calm and comforting presence.

"Francesco Lee," the figure said in a soft yet powerful voice, "your selfless act has caught my attention. You sacrificed yourself to save a life. For that, I, a Random Omnipotent Being (ROB), offer you a second chance. You may make a wish—anything your heart desires."

Francesco blinked, still processing the surreal situation. A second chance? He thought about his life, his love for football, and the dream that was so cruelly taken from him.

"I want to go back," Francesco said, his voice steady. "Back to 1998, but this time, I want to be born in London, where football reigns supreme. I want the talent—the best football talent—and a physique that doesn't get injured easily."

The ROB's eyes gleamed. "Very well. You shall be reborn in London in 1998, with the gift of unparalleled football talent and a body that will withstand the rigors of the game."

The world spun around him, and Francesco felt himself pulled through time and space.

Francesco woke up in a crib, his small hands grabbing at the air. For a moment, he was disoriented, but then the memories came rushing back. He had done it—he had returned to 1998, but this time, he was born in London.

Francesco blinked as his new reality set in. He was in a crib, the soft cotton blankets surrounding him felt unfamiliar, and everything seemed much larger. His tiny hands fumbled in the air, and he tried to move, but his limbs felt foreign.

"I'm a baby", he realized with a mix of amusement and wonder.

As his eyes adjusted, he saw a woman leaning over the crib, her soft brown eyes filled with warmth and love. Beside her stood a man, tall and proud, his features strong but softened by the tender expression he wore. They were looking at him with such care and affection, something Francesco had never experienced in his previous life as an orphan.

The realization hit him—*These are my parents.*

His heart swelled with happiness. In his past life, he had grown up in foster homes, bouncing from one place to another, never really having a family to call his own. But now, here they were—his mother and father—gazing at him with love and protection. He was overwhelmed with joy.

The woman leaned closer, brushing her fingers gently across his cheek. "What should we name him?" she asked softly, her voice filled with tenderness.

The man smiled down at her, then looked at the baby with pride in his eyes. "Francesco Lee," he said, his voice firm yet filled with love.

Francesco's heart skipped a beat. They're keeping my name!

His mother smiled brightly, as if the name fit perfectly. "Francesco Lee," she repeated, her voice melodic. "It's a strong name. He's going to do great things, isn't he?"

The man nodded. "With a name like that, how could he not?"

As they cooed over their newborn son, Francesco lay there, his mind racing. This is my new beginning. He had the love of a family and the talents of a future football legend waiting to be unlocked. His past as an orphan and the pain of a shattered dream were behind him. Now, his future shone brighter than ever.

Five years had passed since Francesco Lee's miraculous rebirth. The once-adult man, now a child of five, had settled into his new life in London. The early memories of his past life and his encounter with the Random Omnipotent Being (ROB) still lingered, but they no longer felt surreal. They were part of who he was now. This time, Francesco had everything—a loving family, a stable home, and, most importantly, the second chance he had dreamed of.

The warm afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the backyard of their modest home. Francesco, now five years old, was playing with his football—a constant companion since he first learned to walk. His small, nimble feet moved with an unusual grace as he dribbled the ball across the grass, a skill far beyond his age. His eyes were locked on the ball, intense and focused, as if he were playing in the World Cup final. He darted around invisible defenders, his tiny legs pumping with determination.

On a nearby bench, Francesco's parents, Sarah and Mike, watched him with pride. Sarah, her dark hair pulled into a neat ponytail, leaned into her husband, her eyes never leaving their son.

"Look at him," she murmured, her voice a mix of awe and curiosity. "He's incredible for his age. Do you think he's really this talented, or are we just being proud parents?"

Mike chuckled, running a hand through his short, salt-and-pepper hair. "He's something special, that's for sure," he replied, his eyes fixed on Francesco as he executed a perfect turn with the ball. "I've never seen a kid his age play like that. It's like the ball is a part of him. This has to be his talent."

Sarah nodded, still watching as Francesco sent the ball soaring into the small net he had set up in the corner of the yard. She was no expert in football, but even she could tell that her son was different. The way he handled the ball, the way he moved—it was natural, fluid, as if he had been born to play.

"I think you're right," she said after a moment. "But if this is his talent, what do we do next? Should we encourage him to pursue it?"

Mike's brow furrowed thoughtfully. He had been thinking about this for a while now. As much as he enjoyed watching Francesco play in the backyard, he knew that talent like this couldn't be wasted. "Actually," he began, "I've been talking to a friend of mine about this. He mentioned that Arsenal's youth academy is opening up trials next week for kids around Francesco's age."

Sarah's eyes widened. "Arsenal? That's one of the top clubs in the country. Do you really think he's ready for something like that? He's only five."

"I know he's young," Mike said, "but the way he plays—he's got something. The kind of raw talent that doesn't come around often. If we wait too long, we might miss the chance for him to develop with proper coaching. This could be the perfect opportunity to see how far he can go."

Sarah considered this for a moment, her gaze shifting back to Francesco, who had just scored another imaginary goal. Her heart swelled with pride, but also with a touch of uncertainty. Could their little boy really be on the path to something so big? And more importantly, was this what he wanted?

"You're right," she said finally, turning to Mike with a smile. "Let's ask him. If this is what he wants, we'll support him every step of the way."

Mike nodded in agreement, his own smile spreading across his face. He called out to his son. "Francesco! Come here for a second, buddy!"

Francesco looked up from his game, his face flushed with excitement from the exertion. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and jogged over to where his parents were sitting. His bright eyes sparkled with the enthusiasm of a child who loved nothing more than playing football.

"What is it, Mom? Dad?" he asked, his voice full of curiosity.

Sarah exchanged a glance with Mike before she crouched down to Francesco's level, her smile soft and reassuring. "Francesco," she began, "you know how much we love watching you play football. You're really good, and we think you have a special talent."

Francesco nodded, his eyes wide. He already knew he was different from the other kids at school when it came to football. He could feel it every time he touched the ball.

"Well," Sarah continued, "your dad and I were talking, and we wanted to know what you think about joining a football academy. There's a big club called Arsenal, and they're holding trials next week. You could go and show them what you can do."

Francesco's heart skipped a beat. *Arsenal*, he thought. Even as a five-year-old, he knew the name. Arsenal was a giant in the football world, one of the best clubs in the country. The idea of playing for them, even just in the youth academy, made his pulse quicken.

"Really?" Francesco asked, his voice rising with excitement. "I could try out for Arsenal?"

Mike laughed, ruffling his son's hair. "That's right, champ. If you want to, we'll take you to the trials. It'll be a chance for you to show everyone just how good you are."

Francesco's mind raced. This was it—his opportunity to start living the life he had always dreamed of. He had the talent, he had the drive, and now he had the chance to show the world what he could do. He smiled brightly at his parents.

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "I want to do it! I want to play for Arsenal!"

Sarah and Mike exchanged a look of pride and joy, both of them overwhelmed by their son's enthusiasm. Sarah pulled Francesco into a tight hug, her heart swelling with love for her boy, who had such big dreams at such a young age.

"All right then," Mike said, standing up from the bench. "We'll get you ready for the trials. But remember, Francesco, no matter what happens, we'll always be proud of you. Just give it your best."

Francesco beamed up at his father. "I will, Dad. I promise."

As Francesco ran back to his ball, resuming his endless game of football in the backyard, Sarah and Mike watched him with a sense of awe and hope for the future. Their little boy was on the verge of something great, and they couldn't wait to see where his talent would take him.

For Francesco, this was just the beginning. He had been given a second chance, and he wasn't going to waste it. Arsenal was just the first step on his journey, a journey that would take him to the heights of the football world. And this time, nothing—no injury, no obstacle—would stand in his way.

The next day, the sun peeked through the curtains of Francesco's room, casting a soft glow across the walls. Francesco lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, his mind racing. He had always been calm under pressure, but the thought of the Arsenal trial in just six days filled him with both excitement and nerves. His father, Mike, had already left for work, and his mother, Sarah, was downstairs doing laundry, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

*Six days*.

The number echoed in his mind. Six days to prove to the Arsenal coaches that he was good enough to join their youth academy. Six days to show that he wasn't just a talented kid playing in his backyard—he was a future star. But how could he impress them? How could he stand out among all the other boys who would be there, all of them desperate for the same opportunity?

Francesco rolled over and sat up, glancing at the Arsenal poster on his wall. It was from the 2002-2003 season, showing the likes of Thierry Henry, Dennis Bergkamp, and Patrick Vieira celebrating a goal. He knew that the upcoming 2003-2004 season was going to be legendary for Arsenal—they would go unbeaten in the Premier League, a feat that no other team had achieved in modern football.

*The Invincibles*.

Francesco smiled to himself. He had the advantage of knowing the future, and he knew that he could use that knowledge to his benefit. Arsenal's style of play during this time was all about pace, precision, and creativity, and two players stood out to him as perfect role models: Thierry Henry and Dennis Bergkamp.

*If I can play like them*, Francesco thought, *the coaches will see that I'm serious about becoming a striker.*

Henry was known for his incredible speed, finishing ability, and intelligence on the ball. Bergkamp, on the other hand, was a magician—his control, vision, and ability to link play were unmatched. If Francesco could combine elements of both players' styles, he was sure he could make a lasting impression.

Francesco got up from his bed and grabbed a small notebook from his desk. He flipped it open and began to jot down his thoughts.

"*What would Henry do?*" he scribbled. He knew Henry's signature move was his ability to cut inside from the left and curl the ball into the far corner. That was something he could practice over the next few days. It wasn't just about the speed—Henry had a certain grace when he moved, like a predator stalking its prey before striking. Francesco would need to emulate that.

Then he wrote, "*What would Bergkamp do?*" Bergkamp's magic was in his touch and his awareness. The way he could bring the ball down from any height and control it effortlessly was something Francesco admired. If he could show the coaches that level of composure and technical ability, they would know he had the skillset to be a creative forward, not just a goal scorer.

*I'll combine their styles*, he thought. *I'll be quick, smart, and unpredictable.*

Francesco knew that youth academies didn't just look for raw talent—they wanted to see intelligence, vision, and decision-making. He would need to show that he could read the game, not just dribble past defenders. If he could mimic Henry's killer instinct and Bergkamp's finesse, he'd have the perfect combination to convince the coaches he was a striker in the making.

With the trial only days away, Francesco decided he needed a plan. He would spend the next few days practicing specific moves: Henry's cutting inside and finishing, Bergkamp's first touch and passing. He'd go to the local park after school, bring his ball, and practice until it was dark. By the time the trial came, he'd be ready.

Francesco's heart raced with excitement at the thought of playing like his idols. He wasn't just any kid—he was someone with the knowledge of what was to come, and he would use that to his advantage. He wouldn't be intimidated by the other boys at the trial. In fact, he was confident that he had more to offer. This was his second chance, and he wasn't going to waste it.

The sound of his mother's voice broke him from his thoughts. "Francesco! Lunch is ready!"

Francesco smiled, closing his notebook and tucking it back into his desk drawer. As he headed downstairs, he felt more determined than ever. This trial would be his moment. He'd show the Arsenal coaches that he wasn't just a talented kid kicking a ball in his backyard—he was a player with the potential to be a star.

As he sat down at the kitchen table, his mother placed a plate of sandwiches in front of him. "You've been awfully quiet today," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Thinking about the trial?"

Francesco nodded, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Yeah, I just want to do well, Mom."

Sarah smiled warmly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're going to do great, Francesco. Just be yourself, and play the way you know how. We're so proud of you, no matter what happens."

Francesco smiled back at her, grateful for her support. He knew she meant every word, but inside, he couldn't help but feel a surge of ambition. He wasn't just aiming to do well—he was aiming to become the best. The trial would be the first step in his journey, and Francesco Lee was ready to take it.

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Name : Francesco Lee

Age : 5 (2003)

Birthplace : London, England

Football Club : None

Championship History : None