The King Of Arsenal

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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.

Francesco took a deep breath, still feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he looked around Old Trafford. The stadium, once a cauldron of noise and belief, had fallen eerily silent—except for the jubilant voices of Arsenal fans celebrating high in the away section.

But amidst the joy, there was respect. Francesco knew what it felt like to lose on a big stage, to feel the weight of disappointment crushing down after giving everything. He glanced at Alexis, who met his gaze with a nod. They understood. Winning was incredible, but football was built on moments of sportsmanship, too.

Without hesitation, Francesco and the rest of the Arsenal players began making their way toward the Manchester United squad.

Wayne Rooney stood near the center circle, hands on his hips, his frustration clear. He had fought hard, scored the goal that reignited United's hopes, but in the end, it wasn't enough. When Francesco reached him, he extended his hand.

"Tough game," Francesco said, his voice steady but filled with genuine respect. "You played well."

Rooney exhaled sharply, glancing up before shaking Francesco's hand firmly. "You lot were better," he admitted. "That counter killed us."

Francesco gave him a small smile, appreciating the honesty.

A few steps away, Mesut Özil was shaking hands with Juan Mata, the two playmakers exchanging quiet words of respect. Alexis had already gone over to Antonio Valencia, while Per Mertesacker and Laurent Koscielny approached Chris Smalling and Phil Jones.

Francesco turned to David de Gea, who was crouched down near the goalpost, his gloves resting on his knees as he stared at the grass. The Spanish goalkeeper had been United's best player for most of the night, making save after save to keep them in the game.

Francesco walked over and crouched beside him. "You were incredible tonight," he said sincerely.

De Gea finally looked up, his expression filled with disappointment but also professionalism. "Didn't matter in the end, did it?" he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration.

Francesco shook his head. "It did. You kept them in the game. You made it hard for us. Some of those saves…" He let out a small laugh. "You almost ruined my night with that one at the near post."

De Gea allowed a small, tired smile. "Almost."

Francesco extended his hand, and after a moment, De Gea accepted it, shaking firmly before pushing himself to his feet.

Not far away, Danny Welbeck was embracing some of his former teammates. He had been part of this club for years, and though his goal had sealed United's fate tonight, there was still mutual respect. He spoke briefly with Ashley Young, while Adnan Januzaj patted him on the back before walking away with his head down.

As Francesco moved toward Radamel Falcao, the Colombian striker looked exhausted, his hands on his knees. He had come close—so close—to scoring a crucial equalizer, only to be denied by Szczęsny's fingertips and the crossbar.

Francesco placed a hand on his shoulder. "You were dangerous, man."

Falcao sighed before straightening up, offering a tired nod. "Not enough."

Francesco gave him a reassuring pat before moving on.

The Arsenal players continued their walk through the United squad, shaking hands, offering words of encouragement, exchanging nods of respect. This was football. The battle had been fierce, the stakes enormous, but at the end of the day, there was always respect between competitors.

By the time Francesco and the others made their way back toward the away fans, Old Trafford had already started to empty. Many United supporters had left the moment the final whistle blew, unable to bear the sight of Arsenal celebrating on their turf.

But the traveling Gunners were still there, still singing, still waving their scarves and banners in triumph.

Francesco turned to the stands, raising his hands in appreciation. The rest of the team followed, applauding the fans who had made the journey, who had sung through the tense moments, who had celebrated each goal as if they had scored it themselves.

This was for them, too.

As they finally began making their way down the tunnel, Francesco felt the exhaustion hit him in full force. The adrenaline was wearing off, and now his body reminded him of the battle he had just endured.

Inside the dressing room, the atmosphere was electric.

Music blasted from the speakers, players laughed and shouted, towels were thrown in celebration, and bottles of water and sports drinks were opened and shared.

Danny Welbeck, the hero of the night, sat in the center of it all, grinning as players came up to congratulate him.

"Man, I can't believe you did that," Chamberlain laughed, shaking his head as he replayed the goal in his mind.

"I had to," Welbeck said with a shrug, though the smile on his face showed just how much the moment meant to him.

Wenger entered the dressing room, and the noise immediately dimmed out of respect. He surveyed his team, taking in the exhausted but victorious faces around him. Then, he smiled.

"Well done," he said simply.

The room exploded with cheers.

He nodded, then continued, "This was a difficult place to win, and you did it. You fought, you defended when you had to, you took your chances when they came. And now?" He paused, letting the moment sink in. "We're going to Wembley."

The roar that followed was deafening.

Francesco leaned back against the wall, letting the celebration wash over him. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring it. These were the nights that made football special. The ones that stayed with you long after the final whistle.

And now, they had a semifinal to prepare for.

As he opened his eyes again, he saw Alexis raise a bottle of water, looking toward him.

"You were good tonight," Alexis said.

Francesco smirked. "So were you."

Alexis took a sip before grinning. "But you know it only gets harder from here, right?"

Francesco nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah," he said. "And I wouldn't want it any other way."

The celebration in the dressing room was still in full swing when Arsène Wenger entered again, this time with a more serious expression. The music was turned down slightly as players noticed their manager standing near the entrance, his gaze sweeping over the squad.

"Francesco, Per," Wenger called out, his voice calm but firm. "Wash up and join me for the post-match press conference."

Francesco, still leaning against the wall with his water bottle in hand, exhaled deeply. His body was screaming for rest, but he knew this was part of the job. Mertesacker, sitting on the bench while untying his boots, gave a tired nod before getting up.

"Alright, boss," Francesco said, pushing himself off the wall.

Alexis smirked as Francesco walked past him. "Good luck, niño," he teased.

Francesco just rolled his eyes, shaking his head with a small chuckle. He grabbed a towel and headed toward the showers.

After a quick rinse to wash away the sweat and exhaustion, Francesco dressed in his Arsenal tracksuit and met Mertesacker outside the dressing room. The big German, always professional, looked calm as ever despite the night's intensity.

"You ready for this?" Francesco asked, adjusting his sleeves.

Mertesacker chuckled. "You're the young star, Francesco. The reporters are going to want you to do most of the talking."

Francesco sighed. "Great."

Wenger, already waiting for them, motioned for them to follow him. Together, they made their way down the hallway toward the conference room, the buzz of media activity growing louder with each step.

When they arrived at the press conference entrance, the security personnel opened the doors, and immediately, the room was filled with the rapid flashing of cameras. The sound of shutters clicking was deafening for a few seconds as journalists captured the victorious Arsenal contingent entering.

Francesco blinked against the harsh lights, but his eyes quickly adjusted. He scanned the room and noticed Louis van Gaal and Wayne Rooney already seated at the table. Van Gaal looked composed but drained, his expression unreadable, while Rooney sat beside him, arms crossed, his face still carrying the weight of defeat.

Wenger led the way to their designated seats, with Mertesacker sitting to his right and Francesco taking the chair next to the German defender. The journalists, most of them eager and leaning forward, were already preparing their questions.

The moderator, a Premier League media officer, adjusted his microphone before addressing the room.

"We'll start with questions for Manchester United, and then we'll move on to Arsenal," he announced.

Van Gaal, ever the composed tactician, nodded slightly, ready for whatever was coming.

A journalist from BBC Sport was the first to speak. "Louis, it was a tough night for United. What do you think went wrong?"

Van Gaal exhaled through his nose, his hands clasped together on the table. "We started slow. We gave Arsenal too much space in the first half, and they punished us for it. The second half was better, and we had our chances, but in football, if you don't take your opportunities, you get punished."

Another reporter chimed in. "Wayne, you got a goal that looked like it could spark a comeback. What was going through your mind at that moment?"

Rooney shifted in his seat before speaking. "I thought we had them," he admitted. "We had momentum after that goal, and we were pushing for another. But Arsenal defended well, and we couldn't break through. Credit to them—they made it difficult."

A journalist from The Guardian then turned his attention back to Van Gaal. "There's been a lot of criticism about United's attacking struggles this season. Do you think tonight's result highlights a bigger issue?"

Van Gaal's lips pressed together slightly before he answered. "I think we created enough chances to score. But yes, we need to be more clinical. That is something we must work on."

More questions followed, ranging from tactical decisions to individual performances. Van Gaal, ever the disciplined figure, answered each one with a measured tone, though frustration was evident in his eyes. Rooney, meanwhile, kept his responses short, his disappointment still fresh.

Finally, after a few more questions, the moderator shifted the focus.

"Now, questions for Arsenal."

A Sky Sports reporter raised his hand first. "Arsène, this is a huge victory for Arsenal at Old Trafford. How do you rate your team's performance tonight?"

Wenger, ever the professor, gave a small smile before answering. "It was a performance of resilience, intelligence, and commitment. We knew coming to Old Trafford would be difficult, but we played our football, stayed disciplined, and took our chances when they came."

A journalist from The Telegraph turned to Francesco. "Francesco, you played a key role tonight. What was it like playing in such a high-stakes match at Old Trafford?"

Francesco adjusted his microphone before speaking. "It was intense," he admitted. "United are always strong at home, and we knew they would push us to the limit. But these are the games you dream about as a player—big nights, big stadiums, big pressure. You just have to step up."

Another reporter jumped in. "You looked exhausted when you were subbed off. How much did that match take out of you?"

Francesco chuckled softly. "A lot. It was a battle out there. The pace was relentless, and you don't get a moment to relax. But that's football at this level—you have to give everything."

The questions then turned to Mertesacker. A journalist from The Independent asked, "Per, Arsenal's defense was tested a lot in the second half. How did you manage to hold firm?"

Mertesacker leaned forward. "Communication. Organization. And a lot of hard work. United were coming at us, but we stayed compact. Everyone knew their role, and we trusted each other."

Then came a more pointed question. "Danny Welbeck scored the decisive goal against his former club. How much do you think this moment meant to him?"

Wenger smiled slightly before answering. "I think Danny showed great professionalism tonight. He was focused, he worked hard, and he was rewarded with the winning goal. That is football—it can be emotional, but he handled it well."

Finally, the last question came from a Daily Mail reporter, aimed at Francesco. "You're still young, but tonight you played like a seasoned professional. Do you feel like you're growing into a leader in this team?"

Francesco sat up straighter, adjusting his posture slightly as he prepared to answer. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. This was an opportunity—a chance to show not just confidence but a bit of arrogance, the kind that great players carried with them.

"Yes," he said simply, his voice steady and firm.

A murmur rippled through the press room. Reporters exchanged glances, their pens scratching against notepads, while the clicking of cameras momentarily intensified. It wasn't the typical humble response most young players gave in this situation. Francesco knew it, and he didn't care.

Wayne Rooney, who had been sitting quietly, turned his head toward Francesco. His eyes narrowed slightly, studying the young Arsenal star. For a brief moment, something about Francesco's answer, his tone, his sheer belief in himself, reminded Rooney of an old friend—one who had once worn the number 7 shirt at Manchester United, who had stood in press conferences just like this, exuding the same confidence that bordered on arrogance.

Cristiano Ronaldo.

Rooney let out a small breath, shaking his head slightly. It wasn't just the words Francesco had spoken; it was the way he carried himself. The way he embraced the moment. Rooney had seen it before. He had seen where that level of belief could take a player.

Meanwhile, Wenger remained composed, though his eyes flickered with the faintest hint of amusement. Mertesacker glanced at Francesco with a knowing look, but he didn't say anything. He understood that confidence, when backed by talent and hard work, could be a powerful thing.

A journalist from Sky Sports leaned forward, eager to press further. "Francesco, that's a strong statement. Do you believe you're ready to take on a leadership role at such a young age?"

Francesco didn't hesitate. "Why not?" he said, leaning toward the microphone. "Age doesn't define leadership. If you have the ability, the mentality, and the willingness to step up in big moments, then you should. I want to take responsibility. I want to be someone my teammates can rely on when it matters."

The room buzzed again. Some journalists nodded in approval, others scribbled notes furiously, while a few exchanged intrigued looks.

Louis van Gaal, who had been mostly silent, raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He had seen young players with that kind of mindset before. Some faded under the weight of their own ambition, while others—like the one Rooney was likely thinking about—became legends.

The moderator cleared his throat, trying to regain control of the room. "Alright, we'll take one last question."

A reporter from The Athletic raised his hand. "Arsène, after hearing Francesco's words just now, do you see him as a future leader at Arsenal?"

Wenger smiled, his response coming with careful consideration. "Francesco is a very ambitious young man," he said. "That is something I admire. But leadership is not just about words; it is about actions. If he continues to perform, to work hard, and to show the right mentality, then yes, I believe he can be an important leader for this team in the future."

Francesco nodded slightly, understanding the message beneath Wenger's words. It was a challenge. Confidence was one thing—backing it up on the pitch, week in and week out, was another.

The press conference ended shortly after, and as they stood to leave, Rooney approached Francesco.

"You remind me of someone," Rooney said, a faint smirk on his lips.

Francesco tilted his head. "Yeah?"

Rooney nodded. "A guy who once walked into this stadium as a kid, full of confidence, full of talent… and never backed down from anyone."

Francesco didn't need to ask who Rooney was talking about. He knew.

"Not bad company to be in," Francesco said with a grin.

Rooney chuckled. "Just make sure you back it up."

With that, he patted Francesco on the shoulder and walked away, leaving the young Arsenal star with a lot to think about.

As Francesco and Mertesacker followed Wenger out of the press room, the energy of the moment still buzzed through his veins. He had made a statement tonight—on the pitch and off it.

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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