The King Of Arsenal

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And now, he had it. United, though, weren't done. They were still dangerous. Arsenal had to stay sharp. Because this game was far from over.

Inside the visitors' dressing room, the atmosphere was a mix of satisfaction and determination. Arsenal had executed their game plan well in the first half, but everyone knew the job wasn't done yet.

Francesco sat on the bench, catching his breath as he wiped the sweat off his face with a towel. Alexis, sitting beside him, took a deep sip from his water bottle before shaking his head with a grin. "They'll come at us like madmen after halftime," he muttered.

Francesco nodded. He had felt the shift in United's energy after the second goal—how their usual aggression had turned into something more desperate, more reckless. That kind of desperation was dangerous.

Wenger entered the room, his presence immediately commanding attention. The players turned toward him, listening intently.

"Well done," he began, his voice steady. "You've executed the game plan well. We took our chances when they came, and we've defended with discipline. But this match is far from over."

He glanced around the room, making eye contact with each of his players before continuing. "United are not a team that simply accepts defeat. They will come at us with everything in the second half. They have no choice. And because they are chasing the game, they will take risks."

He pointed toward the tactics board, where the formation was displayed. "This is where we must be smart. Stay compact. Keep our shape. Force them wide. Let them have the ball in areas where they can't hurt us. They will push their full-backs higher, which means there will be space in behind. That's where we can hit them."

He turned to Özil. "When we win the ball, I want you to look for Alexis and Francesco. They will be our outlets."

Özil nodded, his sharp footballing mind already processing the plan.

Wenger then addressed Coquelin and Cazorla. "The battle in midfield is key. Stay aggressive, but don't dive in. They will be looking for free kicks around the box. Do not give them those opportunities."

Then, his gaze shifted to the defense. "Laurent, Per—you have done well so far. Keep communication strong. If they throw Fellaini forward, be physical but disciplined. Don't let him dictate the aerial duels."

He clapped his hands together. "This is our game to control now. Be patient, be ruthless, and most importantly—stay focused."

As Wenger finished, Steve Bould stepped in to reinforce the message. "They'll try to turn this into a chaotic game. Don't let them. Stay calm, trust each other."

The players nodded. There was no need for fiery speeches—everyone understood the task ahead.

Before heading back out, Francesco felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Mikel Arteta, the club captain, who had been sidelined with an injury but remained a leader in the dressing room.

"Enjoy this," Arteta said with a small smile. "You don't get many chances to silence Old Trafford."

Francesco grinned. "I plan to."

As Arsenal stepped back onto the pitch, the roar of Old Trafford greeted them. The United fans, though subdued after the first half, were still hopeful. They had seen their team perform great comebacks before.

Van Gaal had made a change—Juan Mata was coming on for Daley Blind. United were shifting their shape, going more attacking. Francesco noticed how Rooney and Fellaini were now positioned even higher up the pitch. This was going to be a siege.

The referee blew his whistle, and immediately, United charged forward.

Just as Wenger predicted, they were more aggressive, more direct. The ball was constantly being sent into the box, searching for Fellaini's head. But Mertesacker and Koscielny held firm, contesting every aerial duel, clearing their lines whenever needed.

In the 49th minute, United won a corner. Di María swung in a dangerous cross, and this time, Smalling managed to get a free header. The ball looked destined for the top corner.

Szczęsny leaped.

A fingertip save.

The ball bounced off the crossbar before Koscielny hooked it away.

A close call.

Arsenal needed to be sharper.

They slowed the tempo when they had possession, forcing United to chase. Özil and Cazorla exchanged short, quick passes, making United's midfielders run. It was draining for them, and Arsenal knew it.

Francesco, though primarily focused on defensive duties, still looked for opportunities. In the 51th minute, he made a darting run down the right, latching onto a pass from Özil. He cut inside, looking for Alexis, but before he could release the pass, Herrera slid in with a crunching tackle.

Old Trafford roared its approval.

The referee blew his whistle—free kick to Arsenal.

Herrera protested, but the decision stood.

Cazorla stood over the ball. He took a deep breath before curling a teasing cross into the box. Mertesacker met it with a glancing header, but De Gea reacted superbly, pushing it away.

The game was finely poised.

United attacked. Arsenal absorbed.

In the 61th minute, Van Gaal made another change. Radamel Falcao replaced Ashley Young. United were now throwing everything forward.

Arsenal responded by tightening their shape even further. Bellerín and Monreal barely ventured forward now, staying compact alongside the center-backs.

United kept pushing, sending wave after wave of attacks, but Arsenal remained disciplined. Every time a red shirt entered the final third, an Arsenal player was there to block, intercept, or clear.

The pressure had been building. Arsenal had done well to absorb United's relentless attacks, but the home side refused to let up. With every passing minute, their urgency grew, their movements became sharper, and their belief that they could still turn this game around intensified.

Then, in the 64th minute, Old Trafford erupted.

It started with a quick exchange between Mata and Herrera on the right. Arsenal's defense had been holding firm, but United's persistence finally found a crack. Herrera slipped a neat pass out wide to Di María, who had drifted into space just outside the box. The Argentine had been frustrated for much of the match, but this was his moment.

With one quick glance into the penalty area, Di María swung his left foot through the ball, whipping in a cross with deadly precision.

Rooney had already made his move.

He ghosted between Mertesacker and Koscielny, anticipating the ball before the defenders could react. The timing was perfect. As the cross curled into the six-yard box, Rooney launched himself into the air, twisting his body to meet it with a powerful header.

Szczęsny dived.

Too late.

The ball slammed into the back of the net.

2-1.

The stadium exploded.

Rooney barely celebrated, instead grabbing the ball and rushing it back toward the center circle. He knew there was no time to waste—United had their lifeline, and they weren't going to stop now.

Francesco exhaled sharply, glancing toward Alexis, who simply shook his head. "We knew it was coming," the Chilean muttered.

Wenger, on the touchline, remained calm, but his jaw tightened. He turned to Steve Bould and whispered something, likely discussing adjustments. Arsenal's lead had been cut in half, and now they had a decision to make—stick to their approach or shift tactics to counter United's momentum.

As play resumed, United's intensity surged. They smelled blood.

Falcao, who had been quiet since coming on, suddenly came alive, pressing high and making darting runs in behind. Mata operated in the spaces between Arsenal's midfield and defense, always looking for pockets to exploit.

The next five minutes were chaos.

In the 67th minute, United nearly found an equalizer. Rooney, still fired up from his goal, picked up the ball just outside the box and let fly with a venomous strike. It was dipping, swerving toward the bottom corner.

Szczęsny, at full stretch, managed to push it away.

The rebound fell to Falcao.

The Colombian reacted instinctively, stabbing a shot toward goal.

But Mertesacker was there.

The German defender threw himself in the way, blocking the shot with his thigh before scrambling to his feet to clear the danger.

Francesco clenched his fists. Arsenal needed to weather this storm.

Wenger had seen enough. He motioned to the bench.

In the 70th minute, Arsenal made their first change.

Tomas Rosicky replaced Cazorla.

The Czech international brought fresh legs and an extra layer of tenacity to the midfield, tasked with disrupting United's rhythm and adding an element of control in possession.

The switch had an immediate impact. Rosicky, never afraid of a battle, snapped into tackles and pressed aggressively. He intercepted a loose pass from Herrera and quickly fed Özil, who carried the ball forward before finding Alexis.

Arsenal had an opening.

Alexis charged at Smalling, twisting and turning, looking for a way through. He feinted right, then burst left, creating just enough space to get a shot off.

De Gea was equal to it.

The Spanish goalkeeper, ever reliable, got down quickly to parry the shot away. Francesco, following up, tried to reach the loose ball, but Valencia reacted faster, clearing it before he could pounce.

United weren't the only ones pushing.

Arsenal still had fire.

The clock ticked past 75 minutes, and the tension was suffocating. Every challenge, every pass, every decision mattered.

Francesco could feel his lungs burning, but he wasn't about to slow down.

Then, in the 78th minute, Arsenal almost delivered the knockout punch.

It started with Özil, who was finding more space now that United had committed so many players forward. He played a perfectly weighted ball through to Francesco, who made a darting run into the right channel.

Francesco took it in stride, his first touch immaculate.

He cut inside, driving toward the box.

Smalling came to close him down.

Francesco feinted to shoot, then dragged the ball onto his left foot, leaving the defender off balance.

With a yard of space, he went for placement, curling a shot toward the far post.

It looked destined for the net.

But De Gea, once again, produced a moment of brilliance.

A fingertip save.

The ball clipped the post and went out for a corner.

Francesco let out a frustrated sigh, hands on his head. That was close. So close.

From the touchline, Wenger clapped, urging his players on. "Keep going!" he called.

Time was running out for United.

In the 83rd minute, Van Gaal played his final card.

Adnan Januzaj replaced Herrera.

United were going all in.

Arsenal, sensing the danger, dropped deeper. They were prepared to suffer.

And suffer they did.

United threw everything forward.

Crosses rained into the box.

Shots were blocked, deflected, scrambled away.

Fellaini, acting as a battering ram, won headers but couldn't direct them on target.

In the 89th minute, United had one last golden opportunity.

Di María, still determined to make the difference, danced past Monreal on the right and floated a cross toward the back post.

Falcao rose highest.

For a moment, time seemed to slow.

The Colombian connected cleanly, his header angled toward the top corner.

Szczęsny, with cat-like reflexes, leaped across.

Fingertips.

The ball clipped the crossbar and bounced out.

Groans filled Old Trafford.

That was the moment.

That was the chance.

As the ball was cleared, the fourth official raised the board.

Four minutes of stoppage time.

Four minutes for Arsenal to hold on.

Four minutes for United to find salvation.

The next few minutes were pure grit.

Bodies were thrown in the way.

Clearsances were made with desperation.

Francesco, despite his exhaustion, chased every ball, pressed every pass.

The tension inside Old Trafford was suffocating. Four minutes of stoppage time remained, and Arsenal were clinging to their lead like men holding onto the edge of a cliff. United threw everything they had forward, desperate for an equalizer, but Arsenal refused to break.

Francesco could feel the fatigue setting in, his lungs burning with every breath. His legs ached, but he pushed through. He knew they were close—so close—to a massive victory. Just a few more minutes. Just one more defensive stand.

Then, in the 92nd minute, Arsenal won a corner.

It was a rare moment of respite. Özil jogged toward the flag, placing the ball carefully as Arsenal's big men made their way into the box. Mertesacker. Koscielny. Even Coquelin hovered near the edge of the area, ready for anything.

But before Özil could take the corner, Wenger made his final change.

Francesco, exhausted but proud of his performance, saw his number go up.

Danny Welbeck was coming on.

Francesco sighed, running his hands through his sweat-drenched hair before making his way toward the touchline. As he reached Wenger, the manager gave him a small nod of approval.

"Well played," Wenger murmured, patting his shoulder.

Francesco nodded back. "Finish the job."

Welbeck sprinted onto the pitch, eager to make an impact. He barely had time to settle before Özil raised his arm—the signal—and swung his left foot through the ball.

The delivery was perfect.

The ball curled into the box, dipping at just the right moment. Smalling and Mertesacker jostled for position, but it was Welbeck—fresh, powerful, and determined—who timed his jump to perfection.

He rose higher than anyone.

Smalling tried to challenge him, but Welbeck had the better position, the better leap. His forehead met the ball cleanly, sending it hurtling toward the net.

De Gea reacted.

The United goalkeeper threw himself toward the ball, stretching every inch of his frame.

But it was too late.

The ball sailed past him, crashing into the back of the net.

3-1.

Game over.

For a split second, there was silence.

Then, Arsenal's bench erupted.

Welbeck wheeled away, pumping his fist in celebration, his teammates swarming him. Özil, the architect of the goal, grinned and embraced him. Koscielny, Mertesacker, and Monreal sprinted forward to join in, their job almost complete.

Wenger, normally composed, allowed himself a rare smile.

Arsenal had done it.

They had conquered Old Trafford.

United's players stood in disbelief. De Gea, who had kept them in the game for so long, sat on the ground, shaking his head. Rooney, hands on his hips, stared at the ground, knowing their FA Cup dream was over.

Van Gaal, on the touchline, looked drained. He had thrown everything forward, made every attacking change possible, but Arsenal had weathered the storm. And now, they had delivered the final blow.

The referee glanced at his watch.

A few more seconds.

United tried to restart quickly, but the fight had drained from them. Their passes lacked urgency, their movements sluggish. The belief was gone.

Then came the whistle.

Full-time.

Arsenal had won.

As the final whistle echoed through the stadium, Francesco, now on the bench, jumped to his feet, fists clenched in triumph. The entire team rushed onto the pitch, embracing, celebrating. They had fought. They had suffered. And they had prevailed.

The Arsenal fans, tucked away in the corner of Old Trafford, sang with pride. Their voices rose above the stunned silence of the United faithful.

Arsenal were going to Wembley.

Wenger walked onto the pitch, shaking hands with his players, congratulating them one by one. When he reached Welbeck, he patted the striker on the back. "Perfect impact," he said with a smile.

Welbeck grinned. "Had to finish the job."

Francesco, still catching his breath, felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Alexis.

"You played well," Alexis said. "Big moments like this—you were part of it."

Francesco nodded, exhaling. "This is why we play."

As they made their way toward the away fans to applaud them, Francesco took one last look around Old Trafford. This was a night he wouldn't forget.

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Name : Francesco Lee

Age : 16 (2014)

Birthplace : London, England

Football Club : Arsenal First Team

Championship History : None

Match Played: 20

Goal: 24

Assist: 12

MOTM: 7