The King Of Arsenal

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The program wrapped up with a look at the upcoming fixtures, and Francesco turned off the TV. He lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The day had been long, filled with highs and moments of reflection, but he felt ready for whatever came next.

The next morning, Francesco woke up to the soft glow of the early sun filtering through the curtains. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, he turned to glance at the digital clock on the nightstand—7:13 AM. Stretching lazily, he swung his legs off the bed and stood up, feeling the slight ache in his muscles from the previous night's match. It was a good kind of soreness, a reminder of the hard work and effort he had put in.

Deciding to freshen up, he headed to the bathroom for a shower. The warm water cascaded over him, washing away the fatigue and leaving him feeling refreshed and ready for the day. After drying off, Francesco changed into a pair of casual jeans and a comfortable t-shirt. He liked to keep it simple when he wasn't on the pitch or attending formal events.

Remembering Wenger's instructions from the night before—to gather in the lobby by noon before heading to the airport—Francesco decided to order room service for breakfast. Picking up the hotel telephone, he perused the menu briefly before making his choices.

"Good morning," he greeted the receptionist on the other end. "I'd like to order breakfast, please. I'll have scrambled eggs, bacon, a side of toast, and a fruit salad. Oh, and a coffee with some orange juice."

The receptionist confirmed his order and assured him it would be delivered shortly. With nothing else pressing for the moment, Francesco decided to relax. He grabbed the remote control and turned on the TV, flipping through channels until he landed on a news program.

As he lay back on the bed, the news anchor discussed various events happening around the world. There were updates on political developments, economic news, and a segment on a humanitarian effort in a war-torn region. Francesco watched attentively, appreciating the brief window into global affairs that his busy schedule often didn't allow him.

The weather forecast came on next, showing a sunny day in Manchester with mild temperatures—perfect for traveling. Francesco felt a pang of longing for home, eager to return to London, even if just for a short while before their next match. The comforts of familiar surroundings, his favorite spots in the city, and the buzzing energy of London always rejuvenated him.

A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Room service," came the muffled voice from the other side.

Francesco hopped off the bed and opened the door to find a hotel staff member wheeling in a tray laden with his breakfast. The smell of freshly cooked food wafted into the room, making his stomach growl in anticipation.

"Thank you," Francesco said with a smile as the staff set the tray on the small dining table near the window.

"Enjoy your meal, sir," the staff member replied, bowing slightly before leaving.

Francesco sat down at the table, savoring the aroma of the food. He dug in, relishing the hearty breakfast. The scrambled eggs were fluffy, the bacon crispy, and the fruit salad provided a refreshing contrast. He sipped his coffee, the rich, warm flavor waking him up fully.

As he ate, he glanced out the window, watching the city slowly come to life. People were starting their day, cars were beginning to fill the streets, and the city buzzed with a quiet energy. Francesco felt a sense of calm wash over him, a rare moment of peace in the often hectic life of a professional footballer.

Finishing his meal, he leaned back in his chair, feeling content. The day stretched ahead, and while the trip back to London awaited, Francesco appreciated the quiet morning he had carved out for himself. It was these simple moments, away from the glare of the spotlight and the roar of the crowd, that grounded him.

He spent the next hour catching up on some reading, a book he had been meaning to finish. The story drew him in, allowing him to lose himself in its world. Time seemed to slip by unnoticed until he glanced at the clock and saw it was nearing 11:30 AM. Realizing he needed to get ready, Francesco tidied up his room, ensuring everything was in place for his departure.

Packing his bag, he made sure he had all his essentials—passport, phone charger, and his favorite headphones for the flight. Once satisfied, he sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the clock to strike noon.

At exactly 12 PM, Francesco grabbed his bag and headed down to the lobby. The team was already beginning to gather, players chatting casually as they waited for the coaches. Wenger was there, greeting each player with a nod or a brief word, his ever-composed demeanor reassuring.

The bus ride to the airport was filled with a relaxed energy. Some players dozed off, others listened to music, while a few engaged in quiet conversation. Francesco leaned his head against the window, watching the cityscape blur past, his mind drifting between thoughts of the game, his performance, and the upcoming matches.

Once they arrived at the airport, the team moved through check-in and security swiftly, thanks to their pre-arranged travel arrangements. They boarded the flight to London, settling into their seats. Francesco took a window seat, putting on his headphones and selecting a playlist that matched his mood—a mix of mellow tunes and upbeat tracks to keep him entertained during the flight.

The hum of the plane, combined with the soothing music, lulled Francesco into a light sleep. He dreamed of the match, the moments of tension and triumph replaying in his mind. Even in rest, his thoughts were never far from the beautiful game that defined so much of his life.

As the plane touched down at Heathrow, a gentle jolt signaled their arrival. Francesco blinked awake, the familiar hum of the engines now replaced by the soft murmurs of passengers preparing to disembark. He stretched lightly, rolling his shoulders to ease the stiffness from the flight. Around him, his teammates stirred, gathering their belongings and chatting softly about their plans for the brief downtime.

Francesco stood, retrieving his carry-on from the overhead compartment, and followed the steady flow of players and staff down the aisle. The air outside was crisp, a typical London afternoon, and he took a deep breath as he stepped off the plane, savoring the feeling of being back in familiar surroundings. The team moved efficiently through the airport, their well-rehearsed routine making the process seamless. Bags were collected swiftly, and within minutes, they were heading towards the waiting team bus.

The ride from the airport to the Arsenal Training Centre was a quiet one. Most players were lost in their own thoughts or engaged in light conversations. Francesco, however, gazed out the window, watching the cityscape blur past. London was home—a sprawling, vibrant metropolis that never failed to fill him with a sense of belonging. The streets were busy with the usual hustle and bustle, people going about their daily lives, oblivious to the group of professional footballers passing by.

As the bus pulled into the familiar grounds of the Arsenal Training Centre, Francesco felt a wave of contentment wash over him. This was his sanctuary, a place where he could hone his craft and grow as a player. The building stood proudly, a testament to the rich history and future ambitions of the club.

Stepping off the bus, Francesco grabbed his luggage and exchanged brief goodbyes with his teammates. Some were heading straight home, others to nearby cafes or to catch up with friends. Francesco, however, had a different plan in mind. He made his way to the bike rack where his trusted bicycle awaited him. It was a simple yet efficient mode of transport that he cherished for the sense of freedom it provided.

He mounted the bike, feeling the familiar grip of the handlebars under his palms. With a few strong pushes on the pedals, he was off, navigating through the streets with ease. The wind brushed against his face, cool and refreshing, as he made his way home. The ride was peaceful, the streets less crowded than usual, allowing him to enjoy the journey without interruption.

Arriving at his family home, Francesco dismounted and wheeled his bike to the side of the house. He stood for a moment, taking in the sight of the modest yet cozy house that had been his sanctuary through the years. The front door was slightly ajar, a sign that his parents were home.

Francesco stepped inside, the familiar warmth of home greeting him instantly. "Mom, Dad, I'm home!" he called out, setting his bag down by the door.

From the kitchen, his mother's voice rang out, cheerful and welcoming. "Francesco! We missed you. Come in here and say hello."

He made his way to the kitchen, where the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread filled the air. His mother, Sarah, stood by the stove, stirring a pot of soup, while his father, Mike, sat at the table, a newspaper spread out in front of him.

"Hey, Mom, Dad," Francesco greeted, leaning in to kiss his mother on the cheek and giving his dad a quick hug. "It's good to be back."

"We watched the game last night," Mike said, pride evident in his voice. "You played brilliantly, son. That goal was something else."

Francesco smiled, appreciating the praise. "Thanks, Dad. It felt good to score, especially in such a crucial match."

Sarah set down her spoon and turned to him, her eyes filled with affection. "You must be hungry. I made your favorite—chicken soup and some fresh bread. Sit down, and I'll get you a bowl."

Francesco's stomach growled at the mention of food. "Thanks, Mom. That sounds perfect."

As Sarah ladled soup into a bowl, Francesco took a seat at the table across from his dad. The warmth of the kitchen, the soft chatter of his parents, and the comforting smell of home-cooked food made him feel truly at peace. This was where he belonged, surrounded by love and support.

The meal was simple yet hearty, and Francesco savored every bite. He shared stories from the road, the camaraderie with his teammates, and the challenges they faced on the pitch. His parents listened attentively, their pride in their son evident in every word of encouragement and every smile.

After finishing his meal, Francesco excused himself and headed upstairs to his room. The familiar space was just as he had left it—a blend of personal mementos, football memorabilia, and a few scattered books. He placed his luggage by the bed and took a moment to appreciate the quiet solitude.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Francesco let out a contented sigh. The day had been long, but it was the perfect blend of professional accomplishment and personal comfort. As he lay back, staring at the ceiling, he felt a deep sense of gratitude for the life he was living—the challenges, the victories, and the unwavering support of his family.

The next morning, Francesco woke up to the soft glow of sunlight streaming through his bedroom window. He stretched lazily, savoring the peaceful start to the day. The familiar sounds of his parents moving about downstairs reached his ears, grounding him in the comforting routine of home life.

Pushing the covers aside, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. A quick glance at the clock told him he had just enough time for a shower before breakfast. He grabbed a towel and headed to the bathroom, the cool tiles underfoot a refreshing contrast to the warm air.

The shower was invigorating, washing away the last remnants of sleep and leaving him feeling fully awake. The water cascaded over his shoulders, and he let his mind drift, thinking ahead to the day's tasks. Today was an important one—his final driving test. It was the culmination of weeks of practice, and he was eager to earn his provisional driving license.

After drying off and dressing in casual jeans and a comfortable hoodie, Francesco made his way downstairs. The enticing aroma of breakfast greeted him as he reached the kitchen, where his mom was busy at the stove.

"Morning, Mom," he greeted, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

"Good morning, Francesco," Sarah replied, turning with a warm smile. "I made your favorite—scrambled eggs and toast with a side of bacon. You'll need a good meal before your big test today."

"Thanks, Mom. This smells amazing," he said, helping himself to a plate.

As he dug into his breakfast, the kitchen buzzed with a comforting rhythm. His dad was already seated, sipping on his morning coffee and reading the newspaper, occasionally commenting on the headlines. The atmosphere was relaxed, filled with the small joys of everyday life.

"Are you feeling ready for the test?" Mike asked, folding the paper and looking over at his son.

"Yeah, I think so," Francesco replied between bites. "Mr. Thomas says I've improved a lot. I just need to stay calm and focus."

"You'll do great," Sarah chimed in, setting a fresh pot of coffee on the table. "You've worked hard, and it'll pay off. Just remember everything you've learned."

The conversation continued in light tones as Francesco finished his breakfast. After helping clear the table, he grabbed his jacket and keys. "I'm heading out now. Wish me luck!"

"Good luck, son," Mike said, giving him a thumbs-up. "Drive safe."

"We're proud of you," Sarah added, her voice filled with encouragement.

With a final wave, Francesco stepped out into the crisp morning air. The drive to the driving school was a familiar one, the streets bustling with early commuters. He felt a mixture of nerves and excitement building as he neared his destination.

The driving school was a modest building tucked away on a quiet street, a place he had come to know well over the past few weeks. As he pulled into the parking lot, he spotted Mr. Thomas waiting by the entrance, clipboard in hand.

"Morning, Francesco," Mr. Thomas greeted him with a firm handshake. "Ready for your final test?"

"Morning, Mr. Thomas. Yeah, I'm ready," Francesco replied, confidence in his voice.

"Great. Let's get started. We'll go through the usual route, and I'll be observing your driving skills closely. Remember, stay calm and follow the rules of the road."

Francesco nodded, taking a deep breath as he climbed into the driver's seat. Mr. Thomas joined him, buckling up and giving him a reassuring smile. "Let's go."

The engine roared to life, and Francesco carefully navigated out of the parking lot. The first few minutes of the drive were smooth, his hands steady on the wheel. He focused on maintaining the correct speed, checking his mirrors, and signaling at the right moments.

They moved through a mix of city streets and quieter residential areas, with Mr. Thomas giving occasional instructions. "Turn left at the next intersection. Watch for pedestrians."

Francesco followed each directive with precision, his mind sharp and attentive. He executed a flawless parallel park, a maneuver he had practiced countless times, and handled a tricky roundabout with ease.

As they approached a stretch of open road, Mr. Thomas instructed him to increase speed, testing his ability to handle the vehicle at higher velocities. Francesco responded confidently, merging onto the road and maintaining control with a steady hand.

The final leg of the test involved a return to the driving school, navigating a few more intersections and handling a simulated emergency stop. Francesco executed each task with care, aware of Mr. Thomas's watchful eyes.

Pulling back into the parking lot, he parked the car and turned off the engine, exhaling deeply. "How did I do?" he asked, looking over at his instructor.

Mr. Thomas smiled, jotting down a few notes on his clipboard before meeting Francesco's gaze. "You did very well, Francesco. You've shown excellent control, awareness, and adherence to the rules. Congratulations, you've passed."

Relief and joy washed over Francesco, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Thank you, Mr. Thomas. I couldn't have done it without your guidance."

"You earned it," Mr. Thomas said, shaking his hand. "I'll file the paperwork, and you'll receive your provisional driving license in the mail soon. You're officially on the road now—just remember to keep practicing and stay safe out there."

"I will," Francesco promised, grateful for the support and encouragement.

Leaving the driving school, Francesco felt a newfound sense of independence and achievement. The thought of finally being able to drive his own car filled him with excitement. He already had a few models in mind, and now it was just a matter of choosing the right one.

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Name : Francesco Lee

Age : 16 (2014)

Birthplace : London, England

Football Club : Arsenal First Team

Championship History : None

Match Played: 3

Goal: 15

Assist: 5

MOTM: 4