The King Of Arsenal

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Francesco finally set his phone down and stretched, a content smile on his face. As he climbed into bed, his thoughts turned to the future. The treble wasn't just a dream anymore—it was a goal, and one he was ready to fight for.

The next morning, Francesco woke up to the soft glow of the winter sun filtering through his curtains. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the light before reaching for his phone on the bedside table. A quick glance at the screen showed the date—February 21, 2015. Matchday. Arsenal vs. Crystal Palace at Selhurst Park. Another crucial fixture in their pursuit of the treble.

With a deep breath, he sat up, stretching his arms before rolling out of bed. His body felt good—no lingering soreness from the Middlesbrough match, just the usual matchday adrenaline slowly kicking in. He padded over to the bathroom, turning on the shower and letting the warm water wash away the last traces of sleep. As the steam filled the space, he let his mind wander, visualizing the game ahead. He pictured himself on the pitch, moving into space, linking up with Özil, taking shots on goal. It was a routine he'd developed—mental preparation started long before he set foot in the stadium.

After finishing his shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out, rubbing his hair dry as he walked over to his wardrobe. He grabbed a comfortable black tracksuit, Arsenal's official travel gear, and slipped into it before packing his bag. His kit, boots, and a few personal essentials went into the Arsenal-branded duffel before he zipped it up and slung it over his shoulder.

Heading to the kitchen, he quickly prepared a simple breakfast—toast and eggs. Nothing too heavy, just enough to give him the energy he needed before they had their pre-match meal at the stadium. As he ate, he scrolled through his phone, checking the latest football news. Arsenal's form was the main headline everywhere. The world was starting to take notice of their incredible run, but Francesco knew they couldn't afford to get complacent. Every game was a new battle.

After finishing his breakfast, he cleaned up his plate, grabbed his bag, and slipped on a pair of comfortable sneakers before heading out. He took the lift down to the basement, the hum of the elevator the only sound breaking the morning stillness. When the doors opened, he walked over to his Honda Civic, tossing his bag onto the passenger seat before sliding into the driver's side. The engine purred to life, and soon, he was pulling out of the underground parking lot, merging onto the quiet streets of London.

The drive to Arsenal's Training Center was smooth, the roads still relatively empty in the early hours of the day. As he navigated through the city, he found himself humming along to a song playing on the radio. Matchdays always carried a different kind of energy. There was a mixture of nerves and excitement, the kind that kept him sharp and focused.

Upon arriving at the training center, Francesco pulled into his usual parking spot and turned off the engine. He grabbed his bag and stepped out, inhaling the crisp morning air. The training ground was already bustling with staff preparing for the team's departure. He made his way toward the players' lounge, where a few of his teammates were already waiting.

Alexis Sánchez was leaning back on one of the couches, scrolling through his phone, while Theo Walcott and Aaron Ramsey were engaged in a lighthearted debate about something—probably football-related. The room had a relaxed but focused atmosphere, everyone mentally preparing for the challenge ahead.

"Morning, lads," Francesco greeted as he dropped his bag onto a chair.

"Morning, mate," Ramsey replied, looking up. "Ready for another win today?"

Francesco smirked. "Always."

Alexis gave him a nod. "Crystal Palace won't make it easy, but we're in form. Keep playing the way we have been, and we'll get the job done."

Francesco nodded in agreement. Crystal Palace might not have been title contenders, but they were a tough team to break down, especially at home. Selhurst Park's atmosphere was always intense, the fans passionate and vocal. Arsenal would have to be sharp from the first whistle.

As they waited for Arsène Wenger and the coaching staff to arrive, more players trickled into the lounge. Mesut Özil walked in, sipping on a bottle of water, while Per Mertesacker exchanged a few words with Olivier Giroud. The team was in high spirits, but there was an underlying sense of focus—everyone knew the importance of keeping their winning streak alive.

A few minutes later, the coaching staff arrived, Wenger leading the way with his usual composed demeanor. He glanced around the room, taking in the team's energy before speaking.

"Alright, gentlemen," he said, his voice calm but authoritative. "We've had a good run, but every game is a new challenge. Crystal Palace will fight, and we must be prepared. We will go through final tactics once we arrive, but for now, let's get moving."

With that, the team grabbed their bags and began heading toward the team bus. Francesco followed, adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder. As he stepped onto the bus, he took his usual seat near the window, plugging in his earphones and selecting a playlist.

The drive to Selhurst Park was relatively quiet, most players lost in their own thoughts. Some listened to music, others reviewed tactical notes. Francesco alternated between watching the passing cityscape and mentally preparing for the match. He knew his role today—to be sharp, to create chances, and, if the opportunity came, to find the back of the net.

As they neared the stadium, Wenger stood up, addressing the team one last time. His words were measured, but filled with belief.

"Stay composed, stay aggressive, and trust in each other. We have built something special—now let's show it on the pitch."

As the team bus pulled up to Selhurst Park, the atmosphere outside was already electric. Crystal Palace fans lined the streets, their voices loud and passionate, creating a hostile environment even before the match had begun. Francesco glanced out the window, taking in the scene. He had played in big games before, but there was always a thrill that came with stepping into an opposition's stadium, especially one as intense as this.

The team filed off the bus, greeted by a few Arsenal supporters who had managed to secure spots near the entrance. A few shouted words of encouragement, and Francesco gave them a small nod before following his teammates into the stadium. The corridors leading to the away locker room were narrow and dimly lit, a stark contrast to the Emirates' more modern facilities. But Francesco didn't mind. All that mattered was what happened on the pitch.

Inside the locker room, the players found their spots and began settling in. Francesco dropped his bag onto the bench and took a deep breath. Matchdays always carried a certain energy—an anticipation that buzzed through the air, making it impossible to sit still.

"Alright, lads," Per Mertesacker said, clapping his hands together. "Let's get focused."

Without wasting time, they began changing into their training kits. Francesco pulled on his Arsenal training shirt and shorts, lacing up his boots with practiced ease. Once everyone was ready, they made their way out to the pitch for their warm-up session.

The cold February air was crisp, but the energy in the stadium was already building. Crystal Palace fans were filing into their seats, some already jeering at the Arsenal players as they stepped onto the pitch. Francesco barely noticed. His focus was on getting his body ready.

The warm-up lasted about 45 minutes. They started with some light jogging, loosening their muscles before moving on to passing drills. Francesco exchanged quick one-twos with Özil, feeling the ball move smoothly under his feet. The next phase involved shooting practice—Giroud, Alexis, and Francesco took turns testing the goalkeepers. Francesco felt sharp, each shot connecting cleanly as he sent the ball toward the corners of the net.

The last part of the warm-up was a combination of dribbling and physical conditioning. Francesco weaved through cones with precise footwork before sprinting to finish the drill. By the time they were done, he was feeling fully in sync with his body, his mind locked in on the task ahead.

With warm-ups completed, the team jogged back toward the tunnel, the noise from the crowd growing louder. Inside the locker room, the mood was serious but confident. Players toweled off sweat, took sips of water, and mentally prepared for what was to come.

Francesco took his seat as Wenger stepped forward for his final team talk.

"Alright, listen up," Wenger said, his voice steady and calm. "We know what we need to do today. Crystal Palace will fight, they will press, and they will make things difficult. But we have the quality, the composure, and the discipline to take control of this match."

He turned to the whiteboard, where the starting lineup and formation were displayed.

"We're sticking with 4-2-3-1 today," Wenger continued. "David Ospina in goal. The back four: Monreal, Koscielny, Mertesacker, and Chambers. In midfield, we have Cazorla and Coquelin as our defensive cover. Özil will play centrally, pulling the strings as always. On the left, Alexis. On the right, Francesco."

Francesco nodded, absorbing the information. He had played on the right wing before and knew his role well. He needed to provide width, link up with the midfield, and create chances. But more than anything, he needed to be direct—his ability to cut inside and shoot or deliver a dangerous cross could make all the difference.

"And leading the line," Wenger said, glancing at the tall Frenchman sitting a few seats away, "is Giroud."

The striker nodded, determination written all over his face.

"Our substitutes today: Szczesny, Gabriel, Gibbs, Bellerín, Wilshere, Rosicky, and Walcott," Wenger continued. "We have depth. We have quality. We will use it if we need to."

He paused for a moment, scanning the room. "We are in a fantastic run of form, but every match is a new challenge. We cannot afford to think ahead. Focus on the ninety minutes in front of you. Play with intensity, play with intelligence, and most importantly—play as a team."

There were nods all around. The weight of the moment wasn't lost on anyone. They were chasing history, and every match mattered.

Francesco took a deep breath as he pulled his match kit over his head. The red and white felt familiar, comforting. He reached for his socks and shin guards, methodically putting everything in place before tying his boots tight. When he stood up, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror across the room—his name and number, Lee 35, printed boldly on the back of his jersey.

'NB: the jersey number is 35'

It was almost time.

As they lined up in the tunnel, Francesco could hear the muffled roars of the crowd. The opposing players stood just a few feet away, their expressions set with determination. Crystal Palace were ready for a battle—but so was Arsenal.

He glanced around at his teammates. Alexis cracked his knuckles, always eager for the fight. Özil looked composed, his mind already working through passing lanes before the game even started. Mertesacker, the captain, exuded calm authority, ready to lead.

Then came the signal.

The referee gestured for them to step forward. The teams began walking onto the pitch, greeted by an explosion of noise from the stands. Francesco took in the sight of the stadium, the energy of the moment fueling him.

As he reached the center of the pitch, he shook hands with the opposition, exchanged a few words with the referee, and then jogged to his position on the right wing. He bounced on his toes, loosening his limbs one last time as he waited for the whistle.

As the referee raised his whistle to his lips, a hush of anticipation fell over the stadium, only to be replaced by a thunderous roar the moment the match kicked off. Francesco felt his pulse quicken as he sprinted forward, immediately pressing high as Arsenal looked to assert themselves in the opening exchanges.

Crystal Palace, however, had the same idea. From the first whistle, they were aggressive, closing down Arsenal's midfield quickly, preventing Özil and Cazorla from settling into their rhythm. Francesco tracked back as Palace worked the ball down their left flank, trying to find an early opening. Their winger, Dwight Gae, was quick and powerful, immediately testing Calum Chambers with a darting run. Chambers managed to get a foot in, deflecting the ball out for a throw-in.

Arsenal responded quickly. As soon as the ball was back in play, Coquelin won a crucial midfield battle, stepping in to steal possession and immediately laying it off to Cazorla. Without hesitation, Cazorla found Özil in space, and in a blink, Arsenal's counterattack was in motion.

Francesco took off down the right flank, his boots skimming over the turf as he sprinted into the space behind Palace's high defensive line. Özil spotted him instantly and delivered a perfectly weighted pass that curled around the fullback. Francesco took it in stride, one touch to control and another to drive forward.

The crowd rose in excitement as he neared the penalty box, cutting inside onto his stronger left foot. With Alexis making a run toward the back post and Giroud calling for the ball in the center, Francesco had options. He faked a shot, drawing in the defender, before sliding a pass across the box toward Giroud.

Giroud took a touch, shifted onto his left foot, and fired—only for Palace's goalkeeper, Julian Speroni, to react with a brilliant save, diving low to his right to parry the ball away.

A groan erupted from the Arsenal fans, while the Palace supporters roared in approval. It was the first real chance of the game, and though it didn't result in a goal, Arsenal had shown their threat.

Palace weren't fazed. They immediately launched a counter of their own, moving the ball swiftly up the pitch. A long ball over the top saw Gayle racing past Chambers, and for a moment, danger loomed as he cut inside, lining up a shot. But just as he struck the ball, Koscielny came sliding in with a perfectly timed block, deflecting the shot behind for a corner.

The first ten minutes were relentless. Both sides were going at each other with intensity, neither willing to give an inch. Arsenal had the better technical quality, but Palace had sheer physicality and determination, making every duel a battle.

As Francesco adjusted his position on the right, he took a deep breath. This was going to be a tough game, but he thrived in matches like these. High stakes, high energy—exactly the kind of challenge he loved.

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Name : Francesco Lee

Age : 16 (2014)

Birthplace : London, England

Football Club : Arsenal First Team

Championship History : None

Match Played: 13

Goal: 19

Assist: 8

MOTM: 5