World football system

The clock on the kitchen wall read 2:37 a.m.

The house was silent, but not for long.

A thin cry pierced the stillness.

Tobi Oliveira, shirtless, eyes half-closed, slipped out of bed with the instincts of a seasoned striker reading a pass before it was played. Except this wasn't a Champions League fixture under the Emirates lights — it was a midnight diaper change. And the baby was Thiago, wailing like Arsenal had just lost a cup final.

Tobi padded barefoot across the hall into the nursery. The soft moonlight filtered through the baby blue curtains. All four cribs were aligned like goalposts. Thiago's tiny fists thrashed in the air, his mouth wide open, crying for attention. Ava stirred slightly in the crib beside him but remained asleep. Luna and Liam were still out cold, wrapped in matching cloud-patterned blankets.

"Alright, champ," Tobi whispered, gently scooping up his son. "You beat Madrid in the womb — this should be easy."

He cradled the baby in one arm while using his foot to nudge open the changing table drawer. His movements were swift — methodical even — like how he maneuvered through defenders in tight spaces. The skill translated oddly well to late-night fatherhood.

By the time he returned to bed, Emilia was already sitting up, eyes glazed from half-sleep. "Everything okay?"

Tobi slid in beside her and nodded. "Thiago just wanted a chat. Told him to hold the line until morning."

She chuckled, resting her head on his shoulder. "You're amazing, you know that?"

He kissed the top of her hair. "You've said that before."

"I'll keep saying it."

Morning

The house erupted into its usual chaos by 7:00 a.m. Like clockwork, the babies stirred awake one by one — first Luna, then Ava, followed by Liam and finally Thiago, like a symphony of cute but merciless alarm clocks.

Emilia handled breakfast while Tobi tag-teamed diaper changes and wardrobe selections. He chuckled as Ava refused to wear the red-and-white Arsenal baby kit Emilia had laid out, instead grabbing for the Real Madrid one that someone had gifted them during the Champions League semi-final.

"No chance, princesa," he said, handing her a neutral white onesie instead. "Papa doesn't negotiate with traitors."

The twins laughed as if they understood.

After feeding, burping, and dressing all four, the couple managed to get ten precious minutes of quiet before Emilia sat down with a coffee and sighed contentedly. "You know, sometimes I still can't believe all this is real."

Tobi leaned against the wall, shirtless, coffee in hand, sweat from the morning rush glistening on his chest. "Same. Champions League trophy in one hand, baby bottle in the other. Not the future I imagined at 16, but I wouldn't change it for anything."

Afternoon Training

Though it was officially offseason, Arsenal had a voluntary preseason prep session at London Colney — mostly stretching, conditioning, and wellness check-ins. Tobi didn't have to go, but he chose to.

He needed to feel the ball at his feet again.

Emilia stayed home with her mother, who had flown in for the month to help. Tobi arrived at the training ground to a chorus of jokes and baby banter from teammates.

"Oi, how many kids you got now?" Saka grinned.

"Four," Tobi said proudly. "Two boys, two girls."

"Bro's building a five-a-side squad from scratch!" joked Martin Ødegaard.

Laughter erupted across the dressing room.

Even Mikel Arteta had cracked a rare full-smile when he saw Tobi step into the facility. "Father of four and still punctual. I need to clone you."

Tobi trained with joy that day — touches crisp, passes sharp, legs a bit heavier than usual, but he didn't care. He wasn't there to prove anything anymore. He was there because he loved the game.

After training, he lingered behind, doing some light free-kick drills with Reiss Nelson. The ball curved sweetly into the top right corner on his last shot before he packed up and called it a day.

Evening

Back home, dinner was warm and loud. Emilia's mother had made feijoada, and the aroma filled the house. The babies were in their bouncers, gurgling and watching a baby TV show while their parents and grandmother chatted over plates.

Later that night, after baths and lullabies, the kids were asleep. Tobi and Emilia sat on the balcony, overlooking the quiet street below.

"I saw your Instagram today," she said softly.

Tobi smiled. "The training one?"

"No. The picture of you holding Luna with the caption 'Greatest trophy I've ever lifted.'"

He looked at her, eyes gleaming. "It's true."

They leaned into each other, warm against the gentle summer breeze. There was no match tonight. No crowd, no lights, no goals. Just peace. A peace he had never known before.

But the fire within him still burned. He could feel it — the hunger to win again, to lead, to dominate the season ahead. Arsenal was building something beautiful. And so was he, in his own home.

The sun had barely crept over the skyline when Tobi's alarm buzzed softly beside the bed. His arm stretched out on instinct, silencing it before it woke Emilia or the babies. But it was already too late—Thiago had stirred first, then Liam. Like a chain reaction, Ava and Luna followed. The Oliveira household was wide awake by 5:36 a.m.

Tobi groaned but smiled, rubbing his face as he rolled out of bed. His body ached slightly—not from matches, but from the simple fatigue of parenting. Last night, he and Emilia had barely slept. She lay curled up beneath the covers, drained, her face pale but peaceful. Tobi gently pressed a kiss to her forehead before padding into the nursery with a quiet determination.

"Alright, you four… Papa's here."

He was getting the hang of it. Bottle warming, diapers, singing lullabies that were slightly off-key. But still, it wasn't the Champions League final that made him feel like a hero. It was mornings like this—managing crying fits and cuddles, soft blankets and sleepy coos—that reminded him of what really mattered.

By the time he finished the early shift with the kids, Emilia was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with a mug of tea, watching him with soft, grateful eyes.

"You're amazing," she murmured.

He smiled. "No, we are."

By 9 a.m., he was in his blacked-out Range Rover, pulling up to London Colney for the first official preseason team meeting. Arsenal's training facility buzzed with life. Reporters hovered at the gates, eager for quotes. The smell of freshly cut grass hung in the air. New signings, academy call-ups, and seasoned players mingled. Some gave nods. Others smiled and clapped his shoulder.

Declan Rice grinned as he approached. "Papa Tobi. The legend himself."

"Don't start," Tobi chuckled, but he embraced him.

"How's Emilia?"

"Stronger than me. The kids… they've changed everything."

"Bet they have." Declan's face turned more serious. "You ready to go again?"

Tobi looked out over the training ground. Mikel Arteta stood near the pitch, clipboard in hand, sharp as ever. Around him were several new faces—youngsters eager to impress, and two new signings: a Moroccan winger with lightning pace and a German full-back.

"I'm ready," Tobi said. "But not just for football. I want balance. Greatness at home and on the pitch."

Training began with light stretches and an address from Arteta. The gaffer welcomed everyone back, made it clear the standards hadn't changed. Arsenal had won the league and the Champions League last season. They weren't underdogs anymore—they were the ones being hunted.

"You all know how hard it is to climb the mountain," Arteta said, voice steady. "But staying there? That's what legends do."

Tobi felt a familiar fire ignite inside him. He wasn't chasing trophies for validation anymore. He was chasing legacy—for his children to one day look back and see what their father built, not just in silverware but in how he carried himself.

By midday, the drills grew intense. Sprint circuits. Ball retention. Passing sequences. Tobi was sharp, weaving between cones, reading plays instinctively, barking encouragement at the youngsters.

Fabio Vieira jogged beside him. "You didn't lose a step."

"Didn't plan to," Tobi replied.

After training, a team meal was held in the player lounge. Conversations buzzed. Laughter echoed. Tobi sat at the table with Nketiah, Saliba, and Saka, chatting about the summer, vacations, and Arsenal's transfer activity.

But even amid the camaraderie, his phone stayed close. Every few minutes, he checked in on Emilia via text. Photos of the babies arrived regularly—Ava smiling in a floral onesie, Liam and Thiago trying to grab the same pacifier, Luna swaddled and fast asleep. His heart melted each time.

When the day ended, he returned home to soft chaos—baby bottles lined the counter, toys scattered across the living room, and Emilia on the couch, her eyes heavy but her spirit bright.

"You were missed," she said, handing Thiago over.

Tobi cradled his son. "And I missed you all more than you know."

As the babies drifted to sleep and night blanketed London, Tobi stepped onto the balcony. The stars shimmered above, and the Emirates Stadium glowed faintly in the distance.

A new season was coming. A new chapter—one where he was no longer just a rising star, but a legend in the making. A father. A partner. A leader. And still, somehow, just getting started.