The King Of Arsenal

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Moments like these—simple, grounding, and filled with love—were what Francesco cherished most. They reminded him that no matter how far his career took him, this was home, and this was where he found his strength.

After finishing breakfast, Francesco took his plate to the sink and rinsed it off before heading upstairs. His parents continued chatting at the table, his dad updating his mom about work while she tidied up. Their easy conversation floated up the stairs as Francesco made his way to his room.

Inside, he grabbed a fresh towel and his toiletries, heading for the bathroom. The warm water of the shower felt like a blessing against his slightly sore muscles, easing the tension from yesterday's match and this morning's jog. He let the water run over his face, thinking about his plans for the day. Driving school was next on the agenda, and while he wasn't overly excited about it, the thought of getting his provisional license and buying his first car was more than enough motivation.

Francesco finished his shower and wrapped himself in the towel, steam swirling around him as he stepped into the cooler air of his room. He rummaged through his closet for casual clothes, opting for a simple white T-shirt, a pair of dark blue jeans, and his favorite sneakers. He paused for a moment to run a comb through his damp hair, giving it a tousled but neat look.

As he grabbed his wallet, phone, and a light jacket, Francesco glanced at the clock on his bedside table. 8:15. Perfect timing. His lesson with Mr. Thomas was scheduled for 9:00, giving him enough time to get to the driving school without rushing.

Descending the stairs again, Francesco called out, "I'm heading out, Mom, Dad."

His mom peeked her head around the kitchen doorway. "Driving school today?"

"Yep," Francesco replied, slipping his phone into his pocket.

"Good luck! Don't forget to focus, especially when reversing. You're getting much better, but practice makes perfect."

His dad chimed in, grinning from his seat at the table. "And remember, son, the clutch is your friend. Don't treat it like an enemy."

Francesco laughed. "Got it, Dad. Clutch equals friend. See you both later!"

With that, he stepped outside, the morning sun now fully illuminating the quiet street. Francesco climbed onto his bicycle—his preferred mode of transport when he didn't need to go far—and set off toward the driving school. The wind rushed past him as he pedaled, the streets gradually filling with the activity of the day. Shops were opening, people were heading to work, and the city seemed alive with purpose.

The drive to the school was a short one, and Francesco arrived with ten minutes to spare. Parking his bike near the entrance, he locked it securely before heading inside. The reception area was bustling with a mix of students waiting for their lessons and instructors chatting over coffee. The air was filled with the faint smell of exhaust, rubber, and cheap air fresheners.

Mr. Thomas was already waiting for him, standing near the counter with a clipboard in hand. He was a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a no-nonsense demeanor, but Francesco had grown to appreciate his teaching style. He was tough but fair, always giving clear feedback without being overly critical.

"Morning, Francesco," Mr. Thomas greeted him with a nod. "Ready for today?"

"Morning, Mr. Thomas. Always ready," Francesco replied with a smile.

Mr. Thomas raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "We'll see about that. Let's head to the car."

The two of them walked to the school's practice lot, where a bright blue hatchback with L plates was parked and waiting. Francesco slid into the driver's seat, adjusting the seat and mirrors while Mr. Thomas settled into the passenger side.

"Alright," Mr. Thomas began, his tone professional. "Today, we're focusing on lane discipline and handling turns at higher speeds. We'll also revisit parallel parking since I know that's been giving you some trouble."

Francesco nodded, gripping the steering wheel. "Got it. Let's do this."

Starting the engine, he carefully guided the car out of the lot and onto the quiet side streets surrounding the driving school. Mr. Thomas gave instructions as they drove, pointing out opportunities to practice different skills. Francesco focused intently, his movements precise as he shifted gears, checked mirrors, and navigated the course.

"You're getting better at handling the clutch," Mr. Thomas remarked after Francesco executed a smooth gear change. "But remember to ease off the accelerator slightly when you're shifting up. No need to rush it."

Francesco nodded, filing the advice away. As they approached a sharp turn, Mr. Thomas continued, "Alright, let's take this one at 25. Steady on the steering and keep your eyes on where you want the car to go."

Francesco followed the instructions, taking the turn smoothly. It wasn't perfect, but it was a marked improvement from his earlier lessons. Mr. Thomas gave a small nod of approval.

They spent the next hour practicing various maneuvers, from lane changes to emergency stops. Francesco's confidence grew with each successful attempt, and even when he made mistakes, he took Mr. Thomas's corrections in stride. By the time they returned to the practice lot, Francesco felt a sense of accomplishment.

"Not bad today," Mr. Thomas said as they parked the car. "You're making good progress. A bit more practice, and you'll be ready for your test."

"Thanks, Mr. Thomas. I'll keep working on it," Francesco replied, feeling a surge of motivation.

As he stepped out of the car, Francesco noticed a group of younger students waiting for their turn, their excitement and nerves palpable. He smiled to himself, remembering how he'd felt on his first day of lessons. Now, with each passing session, he was one step closer to achieving his goal.

After locking up the car, Mr. Thomas patted Francesco on the shoulder. "Same time next week?"

"Yep," Francesco confirmed. "Thanks for the lesson."

With that, Francesco retrieved his bike and began the ride home. The streets were livelier now, the midday sun casting long shadows across the pavement.

Francesco pedaled his bike through the bustling streets, feeling the warmth of the midday sun on his face. The lesson with Mr. Thomas had gone better than he'd expected, and he was eager to unwind for a bit before the rest of his day unfolded. As he turned onto his quiet street, he couldn't help but smile at the familiarity of home.

When he reached the driveway, Francesco hopped off his bike, wheeled it to its usual spot near the side of the house, and secured it with the lock. He took a moment to glance around, taking in the peacefulness of the neighborhood—the birds chirping, the faint hum of a distant lawnmower, and the scent of freshly cut grass.

Stepping into the house, he called out, "I'm home!"

His mom, Sarah, emerged from the kitchen, a dish towel slung over her shoulder. Her blonde hair was tied back in a loose bun, and she looked up from her task with a warm smile. "Welcome back! How was the lesson?"

"Good," Francesco replied, kicking off his sneakers by the door. "Mr. Thomas said I'm getting better. Still need to work on parallel parking, though."

Sarah chuckled, shaking her head. "Ah, the infamous parallel parking. You'll get there. It just takes practice."

"Yeah, I hope so," he said, flashing her a grin. "Thanks, Mom. I'm heading upstairs for a bit."

"Alright, don't stay cooped up for too long. Lunch will be ready in an hour."

"Got it!" Francesco replied as he climbed the stairs two at a time, eager to get to his room.

When he entered, he tossed his jacket onto the back of his desk chair and pulled off his T-shirt, swapping it for a comfortable hoodie. His jeans were quickly replaced by a pair of loose joggers—his go-to lounging outfit. Once he was comfortable, he walked over to his entertainment setup, where his beloved PlayStation 4 sat waiting beneath the TV.

Francesco grabbed the controller, turned on the console, and navigated to FIFA 15. The startup screen loaded, accompanied by the familiar, energetic soundtrack that always got him hyped. Today, he was itching to continue his Arsenal career mode.

"Alright," he muttered to himself, settling onto the beanbag chair in front of the TV. "Time to get back to the top of the table."

The career mode save loaded, and Francesco quickly reviewed his team's progress. Arsenal was sitting comfortably in second place, just three points behind Chelsea. His next match was against Tottenham Hotspur, and as a lifelong Arsenal fan, this North London derby was personal.

The pre-match buildup on the screen showed the player lineups, the Emirates Stadium buzzing with virtual fans. Francesco adjusted his tactics, moving Ozil into a central attacking position and ensuring Alexis Sanchez was ready to exploit the wings. He leaned forward, fully immersed as the match kicked off.

From the very first minute, Francesco's focus was laser-sharp. Arsenal dominated possession early on, with slick passing and clever runs. He controlled Santi Cazorla, weaving through Tottenham's midfield before delivering a perfectly timed through ball to Giroud. The French striker took a shot, but Lloris made an incredible save, tipping the ball over the bar.

"Ugh, come on, Giroud!" Francesco groaned, running a hand through his hair. "You've got to finish those!"

The game pressed on, and Francesco kept up the pressure. In the 28th minute, he finally broke the deadlock. Sanchez received the ball on the wing, cut inside past two defenders, and curled a stunning shot into the top corner. Francesco jumped out of his seat, pumping his fist in celebration.

"Yes! That's what I'm talking about!" he exclaimed, feeling a rush of satisfaction.

The first half ended with Arsenal leading 1-0, but Francesco knew Tottenham wouldn't go down without a fight. He made a few substitutions during halftime, bringing on Theo Walcott for added pace and Jack Wilshere to strengthen the midfield.

The second half was a nail-biter. Tottenham pushed forward relentlessly, but Francesco's defense, led by the pairing of Mertesacker and Koscielny, held firm. In the 70th minute, Francesco capitalized on a counterattack. Walcott sprinted down the right flank, crossed the ball into the box, and Giroud redeemed himself with a powerful header that found the back of the net.

"Finally, Giroud! That's what I need from you!" Francesco shouted at the screen, grinning ear to ear.

The final whistle blew, and Arsenal emerged victorious with a 2-0 win. Francesco leaned back in his chair, satisfied. Not only had he secured three crucial points, but he'd also beaten one of Arsenal's biggest rivals—a victory that felt as good in the game as it would in real life.

He exited the match screen and saved his progress, already looking forward to the next fixture. Before turning off the console, he took a quick look at the league standings. Arsenal was now tied with Chelsea on points but ahead on goal difference.

"Top of the table," Francesco said to himself, a sense of pride swelling in his chest.

As he turned off the TV and stretched, he heard his mom calling from downstairs. "Francesco, lunch is ready!"

"Coming!" he replied, setting his controller aside and heading downstairs, his mood lighter than ever.

Francesco padded down the stairs, the scent of something delicious wafting up to meet him as he approached the dining room. His stomach rumbled in anticipation, a mix of hunger and the satisfaction from his FIFA win still fresh in his mind. He reached the bottom of the stairs and rounded the corner into the dining area, where his mom, Sarah, was busy setting the table.

The kitchen smelled amazing—fried chicken and crispy, golden-brown fried potatoes. Francesco's eyes lit up as he took in the scene. The chicken was perfectly fried, the skin crackling as it shimmered in the light, and the potatoes were cut into thick, hearty pieces, each one looking like it had been carefully seasoned and fried to perfection.

"Wow, Mom, it looks incredible!" Francesco said, his voice laced with excitement.

Sarah looked up from her task, wiping her hands on the dish towel slung over her shoulder. She smiled, a proud glint in her eye. "Well, I know you've had a busy morning with your lessons and all. Thought I'd make something special for lunch."

Francesco grinned and walked over to the table, his gaze lingering on the food. He could feel his stomach growling in earnest now, and the sight of the crispy chicken made his mouth water.

"That smells amazing," Francesco said again, settling into his chair. He grabbed a napkin, folding it neatly in his lap as Sarah placed a generous portion of fried chicken in front of him. She followed it with a heaping serving of fried potatoes, the golden-brown edges catching the light.

"You'll need the energy," Sarah said with a wink as she served herself a plate and sat down across from him.

Francesco picked up a piece of chicken, the crispy skin breaking away as he sank his teeth into it. The flavor was just as satisfying as the look of it had promised. He chewed thoughtfully, savoring the rich taste. The potatoes were equally as delicious, with a perfect balance of crispiness on the outside and softness on the inside. It was comfort food at its finest.

"Mom, you really outdid yourself," Francesco said between bites, the food disappearing quickly from his plate. "This is seriously the best fried chicken I've ever had."

"Thanks, sweetheart," Sarah said with a smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "I figured I'd treat you to something you really like. Plus, I know you've been practicing hard with your driving lessons, so you deserve it."

Francesco nodded, looking down at his plate for a moment. He felt a warm sense of contentment, the combination of the day's success and the comfort of being home with his mom. He always appreciated these moments—quiet, simple, and full of love. It wasn't always easy, especially with his busy schedule, but it felt good to sit down and enjoy a meal without the pressure of upcoming plans or commitments.

As they ate, they chatted about the rest of the day. Sarah mentioned some errands she needed to run, and Francesco told her he'd probably head out later to meet up with a few friends. They talked about everything and nothing, enjoying the familiarity of each other's company. For a while, it felt like the world outside had faded away, and it was just them, the food, and the peaceful atmosphere of their home.

When Francesco finished his meal, he leaned back in his chair, feeling completely satisfied. "I swear, Mom, you could open a restaurant with food like this. It's that good."

Sarah laughed, her face lighting up with warmth. "I'm just happy you're enjoying it. You've always had an appreciation for a good meal. It's nice to see you so happy, especially after all the hard work you put in."

Francesco smiled, a sense of gratitude settling over him. It wasn't just the food that made him feel good—it was the comfort of knowing that his mom cared so deeply about him, that she took the time to make his day a little brighter. He knew that not everyone had that kind of support, and it made him appreciate it even more.

"Well," Francesco said, reaching for his glass of water, "I'll be sure to save room for dinner. But this—this was perfect."

"I'm glad you think so," Sarah said, standing up to clear the plates. "I'll start prepping for tonight, but you go ahead and relax. I think you've earned a bit of downtime."

Francesco nodded and stood up to help her, but Sarah waved him off. "Go on, you've had a busy day already. I've got it."

He hesitated for a moment before smiling and heading back to the living room. "Alright, Mom. Thanks again. Seriously, best lunch ever."

As Francesco stepped into the living room, he felt a deep sense of peace. Life wasn't always easy, but in moments like this, with the comfort of home and family, he realized how lucky he truly was. He sat down on the couch, letting out a contented sigh as he sank into the cushions.

His mind wandered to the rest of the day. There would be time later to meet up with friends, but for now, he could take it easy. Maybe he'd even squeeze in another match on FIFA before the evening unfolded. But for now, everything felt just right—the warmth of the food, the joy of a successful game, and the quiet contentment of being home.

As he kicked his feet up and reached for the remote, Francesco's thoughts were calm, his heart light. Life was good. And for the first time in a while, he let himself simply enjoy the moment.

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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: 14

Assist: 4

MOTM: 4