The King Of Arsenal

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Francesco realized he wasn't alone on this journey—he had a team beside him, guiding him forward. As the bus pulled away from the stadium, the city lights blurred past, and Francesco leaned back in his seat, gazing out the window with a quiet, determined smile.

As the team bus pulled into the Arsenal Training Centre, the chatter on board began to quiet, with everyone feeling a mixture of excitement and fatigue. They had played their hearts out, and the satisfaction of a hard-won victory lingered in the air. Francesco was one of the last to step off the bus, savoring the evening coolness that seemed to soothe the residual adrenaline from the match.

Just as he set foot on the pavement, Aaron Ramsey approached him with a playful grin. "Hey, Francesco! A few of us are heading out to celebrate—both the win and your incredible debut. Come on, it'll be fun. You've earned it, mate."

Francesco's eyes sparkled at the invitation. He felt grateful for how welcoming and supportive his teammates had been, especially Ramsey. But as much as he enjoyed their company, something tugged at him from within. The thrill of scoring his first goal, of breaking records and living his dream, felt incomplete without sharing it with the two people who had supported him every step of the way: his parents.

"Thanks, Aaron," Francesco replied, his tone appreciative. "But I think I'll pass tonight. I really want to go home and celebrate with my parents. They were at the game, and… well, they're a huge part of why I'm even here."

Ramsey's smile softened, and he clapped Francesco on the shoulder. "I get it. Family comes first. They must be proud of you tonight, and rightly so. You've done something incredible."

Francesco grinned. "Thanks for understanding, Aaron. I'll definitely celebrate with you all soon."

With a nod of mutual respect, Ramsey waved as he rejoined the others, who were already making plans for the evening. Francesco watched them head off, feeling a sense of warmth. He knew he was in good company—teammates who'd supported him during his debut and treated him like one of their own.

Turning away, he headed to where he'd parked his bicycle earlier. It was a simple way to travel, but Francesco found comfort in it. Riding his bike reminded him of simpler days, before the press and stadium lights. He pedaled down the quiet streets, the city lights casting a warm glow over the roads. The breeze on his face brought him a sense of calm, a chance to absorb everything he had experienced that day.

As he neared his neighborhood, he spotted his father's car parked in the driveway. The sight brought a smile to his face—his parents were home, which meant they'd beaten him back from the Emirates Stadium. Knowing they'd be inside waiting for him filled him with anticipation. He could already imagine their beaming faces, their pride as they recounted the moments they'd seen on the pitch.

Francesco locked up his bike and headed to the front door, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and contentment. As soon as he stepped inside, he heard his father's voice booming from the living room.

"Francesco!" his dad, Mike, called out, striding over with an enormous smile. "There he is—the youngest goal scorer in Premier League history!"

Before he could say a word, Francesco found himself engulfed in his father's embrace. Mike patted his back, pride radiating from him. "We're so proud of you, son. You were amazing out there."

His mother, Sarah, appeared beside them, her eyes shining with emotion. She pulled him into a warm hug, her hand gently brushing his cheek. "Oh, Francesco, you were wonderful. We couldn't believe our eyes when you scored! It was like a dream."

Francesco chuckled, his cheeks flushing with a mix of pride and modesty. "Thanks, Mom. I couldn't have done it without you and Dad. All those years of driving me to training, supporting me through every setback… it's all because of you both."

His mom placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, and his father squeezed his shoulder. "We'd do it all over again," Mike said, his voice full of conviction. "Seeing you out there, doing what you love—that's worth everything."

They moved into the living room, where Sarah had set out a celebratory spread on the coffee table. It was modest—just some snacks and drinks, but to Francesco, it felt more meaningful than any elaborate celebration. This was home, the place where his dreams had been nurtured, and where he could be himself, away from the spotlight.

They sat together, reminiscing about the match. His parents eagerly recounted each moment from their perspective, his father animatedly describing the build-up to Francesco's goal and his mother talking about the emotion she felt when the crowd roared. Francesco listened, laughing and nodding along, his heart swelling with happiness.

At one point, Mike leaned forward, a thoughtful look on his face. "Francesco, I know the manager didn't bring you to the press conference tonight. I imagine some people might question that decision, but I think it was the right call. Wenger knows the pressures you'll face, and he's looking out for you."

Francesco nodded. "I understand why he did it, Dad. Coach wants to protect me, and I'm grateful for that. I'm still just starting out, and I want to focus on the game—not all the attention."

His mother reached over and took his hand. "That's a wise mindset, honey. The fame and praise are part of the journey, but remember, it's your love for the sport that brought you here. Hold onto that."

Francesco gave her hand a squeeze. "I will, Mom. I promise."

As they continued talking, Mike brought out a photo album he'd kept for years, filled with snapshots of Francesco's early days in youth leagues, his first football kits, and memories of weekend games. They flipped through the pages together, the photos capturing a journey that had led to this incredible night. Francesco saw images of himself as a young boy, kicking a ball with determination, his parents cheering from the sidelines. He realized how much they had invested in him—not just in terms of time and effort, but in unwavering belief.

After an hour of laughter, stories, and heartfelt moments, Francesco began to feel the exhaustion from the day's events settling in. His mom noticed, brushing a hand over his hair. "You should get some rest, sweetheart. You've had quite the day, and tomorrow will bring new challenges."

Francesco nodded, stifling a yawn. "You're right. I should get some sleep."

He rose, and his parents each gave him one more hug, their pride evident in their eyes. As he made his way upstairs to his room, he couldn't help but glance back, seeing his parents together, sharing a look of quiet pride and happiness. He felt a surge of gratitude—everything he'd achieved, he owed to them.

In his room, Francesco changed into comfortable clothes and sank onto his bed, his mind drifting over the day's events. The roar of the crowd, the touch of the ball, the embrace of his teammates—all of it felt like a surreal, cherished memory. He thought of Wenger's advice, the support of his teammates, and, above all, the love of his parents. With a quiet smile, he closed his eyes, letting the fatigue take over.

The morning sunlight seeped through Francesco's curtains, waking him gently from a deep, well-earned sleep. He rubbed his eyes, feeling the lingering exhaustion from the previous day. Reaching for his phone, he was startled to see dozens of notifications lighting up his screen. As he unlocked it, he was greeted by a surge of social media activity he hadn't anticipated. His Instagram followers had exploded overnight, climbing by 100,000 new followers, and his inbox was filled with messages from friends, family, and even some people he didn't know.

Francesco scrolled through his feed, quickly realizing the extent of the attention he was receiving. Articles from British, European, and even international outlets filled his screen, all announcing the same headline: "Francesco Lee—Youngest Premier League Goal Scorer in History." There were clips of his goal, slow-motion replays of the ball finding the back of the net, and commentaries from analysts dissecting his debut performance. Pundits praised his skill and maturity, and fan comments speculated excitedly about his future.

Despite the excitement, Francesco kept himself grounded. He knew the media's interest could be fickle, and the attention he was receiving today could just as easily turn to criticism if his performances slipped. He'd seen it happen to other players and understood the importance of staying focused. Taking a deep breath, he put his phone aside, determined to not let the sudden fame get to his head.

Francesco stretched and got out of bed, his mind set on starting the day with a clear head. He made his way downstairs to find the comforting smell of breakfast filling the air. His father, Mike, was seated in the living room, engrossed in the morning news, while his mother, Sarah, was busy cooking in the kitchen.

Just as Francesco stepped into the room, the TV news segment switched to coverage of Arsenal's match, with the screen showing footage of his record-breaking goal. Mike glanced over at him, his eyes lighting up with pride.

"Look at this," Mike said, motioning to the screen. "They're talking about you, Francesco. It's everywhere."

Francesco watched as the broadcast replayed his goal, with a caption detailing his achievement as the youngest Premier League goal scorer at sixteen years and eight days. The news anchors discussed the rarity of such a debut, and one commentator even speculated that his record might stand unbroken for decades, given how exceptional the accomplishment was.

He approached the kitchen, smiling as he caught his mom's attention. She set down the spatula and turned to give him a quick hug. "Good morning, sweetheart! Did you see all the attention you're getting?"

Francesco nodded, still trying to absorb everything. "Yeah, it's a bit overwhelming. I didn't expect this much coverage."

Sarah smiled knowingly. "You've earned it, Francesco. It's not every day that someone makes history like that. But don't worry—we're here to keep you grounded."

Francesco chuckled, taking a seat at the kitchen counter. "I think I'm going to need that."

Sarah placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of him as Mike joined them at the table. Francesco noticed his father's expression, a mix of pride and caution. "It's an incredible achievement, son," Mike said, "but remember that this attention comes with responsibility. The media can be supportive one day and critical the next. Just keep your focus on the game, and everything else will fall into place."

Francesco nodded thoughtfully. "I know, Dad. I want to enjoy this moment, but I'm not going to let it distract me. I've seen what can happen when players get too caught up in the hype."

Mike patted him on the back, clearly impressed by his son's maturity. "That's the attitude you need. Just keep doing your best, and don't worry about the rest."

As they ate breakfast together, Francesco felt a renewed sense of purpose. His parents' support and guidance gave him the foundation he needed to navigate this new chapter. They had been there for him through every practice, every game, and every challenge, and their pride in him was clear. Yet, they also reminded him of the importance of humility—a quality that would be essential as his career unfolded.

As Francesco took another bite of his breakfast, the sound of his phone vibrating on the counter caught his attention. He glanced down, surprised to see Arsène Wenger's name flashing on the screen. His heart skipped a beat; it wasn't every day he received a personal call from the Arsenal manager. He quickly swallowed his food, wiped his mouth, and picked up the phone.

"Good morning, Coach," Francesco greeted, trying to keep his tone steady.

"Good morning, Francesco," Wenger's calm, thoughtful voice came through the line. "I wanted to speak with you directly. I'm sure you've seen the media coverage this morning. It's everywhere—your goal, the record, the praises."

Francesco could hear the seriousness in Wenger's voice, and he nodded, even though he knew the coach couldn't see him. "Yes, I saw. It's… a lot to take in."

"I can imagine," Wenger replied, a note of understanding in his tone. "But I want you to remember something, Francesco. All this attention, all these headlines—it's temporary. The spotlight can be as unforgiving as it is flattering. This praise could easily turn into criticism if your performance dips. The media and fans are fickle."

Francesco took in Wenger's words, feeling their weight. He knew the wisdom behind them. "I understand, Coach," he said sincerely. "I've seen how quickly things can change in football. I don't plan on letting any of this go to my head. I'm focused on training and improving, no matter what."

There was a pause on the other end, and Francesco imagined Wenger's approving nod. "That's the mindset I want you to keep," Wenger said. "This is just the beginning for you, Francesco. You have talent, yes, but discipline, humility, and hard work are what will keep you grounded in the long run."

"I know, Coach," Francesco replied. "I'm grateful for this opportunity, and I won't take it for granted. I'll train hard to make sure my performance is always at its best."

Wenger's voice softened slightly, the hint of a smile in his tone. "I'm relieved to hear that. You're young, Francesco, but you show maturity beyond your years. I believe that mindset will carry you far."

Francesco felt a surge of pride hearing Wenger's praise. His coach's belief in him only strengthened his resolve. "Thank you, Coach. I'll do my best to live up to your expectations."

"Good," Wenger replied. "And one more thing—I wanted to let you know that there's no training scheduled for today. You and the team have earned a day of rest after yesterday's match. Use it wisely to recharge."

Francesco smiled, nodding even though Wenger couldn't see. "Understood, Coach. I'll be ready for our next session."

"Very well, then. Enjoy your day, Francesco. And remember—stay focused, and don't let the spotlight distract you. I look forward to seeing more of what you're capable of."

With that, Wenger ended the call, leaving Francesco to reflect on the conversation. Setting his phone down, he glanced up to see his parents watching him, curiosity evident on their faces.

"Who was that, Francesco?" his father asked, unable to hide his interest.

"Coach Wenger," Francesco replied with a grin. "He wanted to remind me not to get too caught up in the media hype and to stay focused on what really matters."

Mike chuckled, nodding approvingly. "Smart man, that Wenger. He's absolutely right—you've got to stay grounded."

Francesco agreed, feeling a sense of calm settle over him. Wenger's words echoed in his mind, reinforcing his commitment to hard work and steady improvement. He knew he had a long road ahead, and he was ready to take it one step at a time.

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Name : Francesco Lee

Age : 16 (2014)

Birthplace : London, England

Football Club : Arsenal First Team

Championship History : None