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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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And tonight, under the floodlights of Stamford Bridge, one chance had carried Arsenal one step closer to Wembley.
The victory at Stamford Bridge created momentum.
Not the loud, dramatic kind that dominated television headlines.
The more dangerous kind, that developed inside dressing rooms.
Inside training grounds.
Inside squads that trusted each other completely.
Arsenal returned from West London with exactly what Wenger had wanted.
A result.
A clean sheet.
A one-goal advantage.
And perhaps most importantly, another reminder that this team knew how to win difficult matches.
Still, football never stopped.
Not in January.
Especially not in January.
The calendar remained merciless.
One match ended.
Another immediately appeared.
Then another.
Then another.
The season continued moving forward at full speed.
And Arsenal had no choice but to move with it.
Three days after Stamford Bridge, Arsenal found themselves back on the road.
This time for the FA Cup Third Round.
The destination was Nottingham.
The City Ground.
One of English football's historic stadiums.
The sort of ground that carried memories in its walls.
Generations of football.
Generations of supporters.
Generations of stories.
The atmosphere before kickoff felt different from the Chelsea match.
Less tension.
Less pressure.
But still plenty of excitement.
The FA Cup had that effect.
No matter how modern football became.
No matter how many competitions existed.
The FA Cup remained special.
Players understood it.
Supporters understood it.
Managers definitely understood it.
And Wenger, perhaps more than anyone, respected the competition.
The Frenchman rotated his squad again.
Fresh legs.
Fresh energy.
The sort of management required during a packed schedule.
Yet despite the changes, Arsenal's quality remained obvious from the opening whistle.
The visitors dominated possession immediately.
Passing sharply.
Moving confidently.
Looking every bit like a team filled with belief.
Nottingham Forest fought hard.
Of course they did.
Cup matches always carried unpredictability.
Always carried emotion.
Always carried the possibility of an upset.
But Arsenal quickly established control.
The breakthrough arrived midway through the first half.
And unsurprisingly, Francesco played a central role.
Cazorla received possession near midfield.
Lifted his head.
And immediately spotted movement ahead.
Francesco had already begun his run.
Timing it perfectly.
The pass split Forest's defensive line.
One touch brought the ball under control.
The second sent him clear.
The goalkeeper rushed forward desperately.
Trying to close the angle.
Trying to make himself big.
Trying to stop the inevitable.
But Francesco remained calm.
A slight adjustment.
Then a composed finish.
The ball rolled into the corner.
Simple.
Clinical.
Effective.
The away supporters erupted.
Arsenal led.
And Francesco celebrated with a raised arm toward the traveling fans.
Another goal.
Another contribution.
Another important step.
Forest responded admirably.
The home side equalized shortly before halftime through a well-worked attack that brought the City Ground to life.
For a few moments, belief surged through the stadium.
The possibility of a cup upset suddenly felt real.
Very real.
But Arsenal responded exactly like champions.
The second half became a demonstration of quality.
Mustafi restored the lead with a powerful header from a corner.
The German defender celebrating as though he had scored in a World Cup final.
Which made everyone laugh.
Including Mustafi himself.
Then came Iwobi.
The Nigerian winger producing a brilliant finish after a flowing team move involving Walcott and Giroud.
By that point Arsenal controlled the match completely.
Forest continued fighting.
Continued pressing.
Continued believing.
But Arsenal possessed too much experience.
Too much quality.
Too much composure.
The fourth goal arrived late.
Walcott racing clear before calmly finishing beyond the goalkeeper.
Game over.
Nottingham Forest 1.
Arsenal 4.
Another victory.
Another competition still alive.
Another step forward.
The celebrations barely lasted twenty-four hours.
Because next came the Premier League.
And another away trip.
This time to the south coast.
The Vitality Stadium.
Home of Bournemouth.
A ground considerably smaller than Stamford Bridge.
Smaller than the Emirates.
Smaller than many Premier League venues.
Yet somehow capable of creating an intense atmosphere.
Especially under the lights.
The match proved far more difficult than many expected.
Bournemouth played aggressively.
Fearlessly.
Refusing to be intimidated by the league champions.
The home supporters created tremendous noise.
Every challenge received applause.
Every attack generated excitement.
Every Arsenal mistake brought hope.
The opening stages remained tight.
Competitive.
Physical.
Bournemouth pressed aggressively.
Trying to disrupt Arsenal's rhythm.
Trying to prevent the visitors from controlling possession.
For long periods, it worked.
The match became a battle.
The sort of ugly, difficult Premier League fixture title contenders needed to survive.
Then Francesco produced another moment.
Around thirty minutes into the match, Sánchez collected possession near the halfway line.
The Chilean immediately drove forward.
Drawing defenders toward him.
Creating space elsewhere.
Then came the pass.
Sharp.
Precise.
Perfect.
Francesco met it in stride.
One touch.
Then another.
The Bournemouth defense scrambled.
Too late.
The finish arrived a second later.
Low.
Powerful.
Accurate.
Goal.
One-nil Arsenal.
The away supporters celebrated wildly.
Because moments like that changed matches.
And because Francesco continued delivering them.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Bournemouth refused to surrender.
The home side equalized early in the second half.
The stadium erupted.
Belief returned instantly.
For twenty minutes Arsenal faced genuine pressure.
Crosses flew into the box.
Challenges became fiercer.
The crowd sensed an opportunity.
But champions found answers.
And Arsenal found theirs through Sánchez.
The Chilean received the ball near the edge of the area.
Beat one defender.
Then another.
Before smashing a finish into the top corner.
An extraordinary goal.
The kind only elite players produced.
The Vitality Stadium fell silent.
Arsenal's away section exploded.
And despite Bournemouth's late pressure, the score remained unchanged.
Bournemouth 1.
Arsenal 2.
Another victory.
Another three points.
Another successful evening.
The final match before Chelsea's visit arrived at the Emirates.
Crystal Palace.
A London derby.
A packed stadium.
And a team full of confidence.
The supporters could feel it.
Everyone could.
Arsenal were playing excellent football.
Winning consistently.
Scoring goals.
Defending well.
Everything seemed to be clicking.
Sometimes seasons contained periods where teams felt unstoppable.
This was one of those periods.
From the opening whistle, Arsenal dominated.
Possession belonged almost entirely to Wenger's side.
Crystal Palace spent long stretches chasing shadows.
Trying to close spaces.
Trying to survive.
Trying to slow the match down.
It rarely worked.
The first goal arrived through Francesco.
Naturally.
A clever combination with Özil near the edge of the area.
A quick exchange.
A sudden run.
Then a finish beyond the goalkeeper.
One-nil.
The Emirates roared.
The second goal surprised everyone.
Including Robertson.
The Scottish fullback had charged forward during an attack.
Received possession unexpectedly.
And somehow found himself in front of goal.
For a brief moment he looked almost confused.
Then instinct took over.
A powerful finish.
Goal.
The Emirates exploded.
Robertson sprinted away laughing.
The rest of the team chasing him.
Because nobody enjoyed unexpected goals more than defenders.
Especially fullbacks.
Especially Scottish fullbacks.
By halftime Arsenal already controlled everything.
The second half only strengthened that control.
Gnabry scored next.
A brilliant individual effort from the German winger.
Dribbling past defenders before finishing confidently.
Three-nil.
Then Palace finally found a response.
A consolation goal.
A brief moment of celebration.
A brief reminder that football rarely allowed perfection.
But Arsenal quickly restored order.
Koscielny headed home from a corner.
The captain celebrating with characteristic restraint.
Which lasted approximately three seconds before teammates jumped all over him.
Then came the fifth.
Another flowing Arsenal attack.
Another beautiful team move.
Another finish.
The Emirates spent the final minutes singing.
Enjoying.
Celebrating.
Crystal Palace simply tried to reach full time.
Eventually the whistle arrived.
Arsenal 5.
Crystal Palace 1.
A statement victory.
The sort supporters remembered.
The sort title contenders produced.
The result that sent everyone home smiling.
And then suddenly it was time again.
Chelsea.
The Emirates.
The second leg.
One final step from Wembley.
The days between matches disappeared quickly.
Recovery sessions.
Video analysis.
Tactical meetings.
Training.
Preparation.
Everything focused on one objective.
Finishing the job.
Now, on a cold morning at London Colney, Arsenal's first-team squad moved through another intense training session.
The pitches glistened beneath pale winter sunlight.
Breath hung visibly in the air.
Coaches shouted instructions.
Footballs zipped across the grass.
The atmosphere felt different.
Not nervous.
Focused.
Very focused.
Players understood the opportunity sitting directly ahead of them.
One goal advantage.
Home stadium.
Ninety minutes from a cup final.
Those chances did not appear every season.
Not even for elite clubs.
Across one section of the pitch, Wenger watched carefully.
Hands tucked into his coat pockets.
Eyes observing everything.
Every movement.
Every pass.
Every detail.
Nearby, Francesco exchanged quick passes with Özil.
The German's technique remained absurd.
As always.
The ball seemed magnetically attached to his boots.
"You know," Francesco said after receiving another perfectly weighted pass.
"You make everyone else look bad."
Özil glanced up.
A tiny smile appeared.
"I know."
Francesco laughed.
At least he was honest.
Further away, Wilshere looked increasingly sharp.
The midfielder moved freely.
Confidently.
The Chelsea performance had given him something important.
Momentum.
Confidence.
Proof that his body could still perform at the highest level.
Every training session seemed to strengthen that belief.
Ramsey and Cazorla worked nearby.
Walker was talking.
Constantly.
Nobody knew exactly about what.
Only that he was talking.
Robertson eventually pointed toward Wenger.
"If you don't stop, the boss is going to make you run extra laps."
Walker looked horrified.
"That's abuse."
"It's motivation."
"It's abuse."
The Scottish fullback grinned.
"No disagreement there."
Laughter spread through the group.
Moments like those mattered.
The season was long.
Pressure was constant.
Enjoying training together mattered more than people realized.
As the session continued, attention gradually shifted toward tactical preparation.
Chelsea's shape.
Chelsea's strengths.
Chelsea's weaknesses.
Hazard.
Morata.
Alonso.
Moses.
Everything analyzed.
Everything discussed.
Nothing overlooked.
Because Arsenal had learned one thing over the years.
Chelsea never disappeared quietly.
Not under Conte.
Not in a semi-final.
Not with Wembley at stake.
Eventually Wenger gathered the squad together near midfield.
The players formed a semicircle around him.
Listening carefully.
The manager looked from face to face.
Veterans.
Leaders.
Youngsters.
Champions.
Future stars.
A complete squad.
A united squad.
"We have the advantage."
His voice carried easily across the training ground.
A simple fact.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
"But only the advantage."
The players listened.
"Not qualification."
A few heads nodded.
Everyone understood.
One-nil was valuable.
One-nil was important.
One-nil was dangerous if handled incorrectly.
"We play to win."
The words came firmly.
Immediately.
Without hesitation.
Not protect.
Not survive.
Not hide.
Win.
That was Wenger's way.
Always.
The Frenchman folded his arms.
"Chelsea will come here believing they can change the tie."
A pause.
"We must show them they are correct."
Several players exchanged confused looks.
Then Wenger smiled.
The famous Wenger smile.
The one that always meant something clever was coming.
"They can change the tie."
Another pause.
"But only if we allow it."
Now everyone understood.
And several players smiled.
Including Francesco.
Because that was the challenge.
Not protecting a lead.
Not defending desperately.
Playing Arsenal football.
Playing with courage.
Playing with confidence.
Playing to reach Wembley.
The session eventually ended beneath a pale afternoon sky.
Players headed toward the dressing rooms.
Conversations resumed.
Recovery awaited.
Lunch awaited.
Preparation continued.
The days continued to pass at their usual relentless pace.
Training.
Recovery.
Analysis.
Preparation.
Then training again.
The rhythm of elite football never truly changed.
Only the opponent did.
And now that opponent was Chelsea.
Again.
Only this time there was no Stamford Bridge.
No away trip.
No first leg.
No room for waiting.
The second leg was approaching.
The Emirates was waiting.
Wembley was waiting.
And because football loved drama, the media had already begun turning the tie into something much bigger than a simple Carabao Cup semi-final.
Not that they needed much encouragement.
This was Arsenal against Chelsea.
A London derby.
A trophy on the line.
A place in the final at stake.
And perhaps most importantly?
A storyline.
The media loved storylines.
Especially when they involved Francesco Lee.
Especially when they involved Chelsea.
Because over the previous three years something unusual had happened.
Something that had gradually become impossible to ignore.
Chelsea simply could not beat Arsenal.
Not once.
Not in the league.
Not in the cups.
Not at Stamford Bridge.
Not at the Emirates.
Every time the two clubs met, the result seemed to end the same way.
Arsenal victorious.
Chelsea frustrated.
Francesco influential.
The pattern had become so consistent that supporters on both sides had started joking about it.
At first it had been coincidence.
Then it became a trend.
Then it became a talking point.
Now?
It had become a genuine narrative.
And narratives sold newspapers.
They generated television debates.
They filled radio shows.
They dominated social media.
By the middle of the week, nearly every major football outlet in England was discussing it.
Some politely.
Some dramatically.
Some ridiculously.
Which was usually the most entertaining category.
One evening after training, several Arsenal players found themselves relaxing inside the players' lounge at London Colney.
Recovery sessions had finished.
Gym work was complete.
Lunch had long since disappeared.
For once nobody was rushing anywhere.
The television mounted on the wall happened to be showing a football debate program.
A dangerous decision.
Footballers rarely enjoyed listening to pundits discuss footballers.
Especially when those footballers happened to be them.
Unfortunately nobody had changed the channel.
So the squad found themselves watching.
And immediately regretting it.
A presenter stood in front of a giant screen displaying two club badges.
Arsenal.
Chelsea.
Below them sat another graphic.
A statistic.
A very specific statistic.
ARSENAL VS CHELSEA SINCE FRANCESCO LEE'S BREAKTHROUGH
The numbers looked brutal.
Arsenal wins.
Chelsea wins.
Goals scored.
Goals conceded.
Everything.
None of it made pleasant reading for Chelsea supporters.
Kyle Walker nearly choked on his drink.
"Oh, that's evil."
Robertson looked up.
"What?"
Walker pointed.
"They've made a whole graphic."
The Scottish defender glanced toward the television.
Then burst out laughing.
"That's actually incredible."
"It looks like a crime scene."
"It kinda does."
Across the room, Wilshere shook his head.
"Imagine being a Chelsea fan watching that."
"Imagine being a Chelsea defender watching that," Ramsey added.
That generated even more laughter.
On screen, one pundit was already speaking passionately.
"The reality is simple."
He pointed toward the statistics.
"Chelsea haven't found an answer."
"Not tactically."
"Not mentally."
"Not physically."
"Every time these teams meet, Arsenal seem to have an advantage."
Another pundit immediately disagreed.
Naturally.
Television debates required disagreement.
Otherwise everyone would simply go home.
"I don't buy that."
"Eventually these runs end."
"Every streak ends."
"Chelsea are too talented not to break through eventually."
The first pundit folded his arms.
"We've been saying eventually for three years."
A third panelist jumped in.
"And that's exactly why this second leg is fascinating."
The giant screen suddenly changed.
A photograph of Francesco appeared.
The players in the room immediately groaned.
Walker pointed accusingly.
"There he is."
Francesco rolled his eyes.
"Wonderful."
The panelist continued.
"When one player becomes associated with dominance over another club, psychology enters the equation."
"Chelsea know the history."
"Arsenal know the history."
"Supporters know the history."
"Whether people admit it or not, that matters."
"Every match starts with eleven players against eleven players."
"But mentally?"
"Sometimes it starts much earlier."
The room grew slightly quieter.
Because underneath all the television drama, there was actually a little truth there.
Football was played by human beings.
Not machines.
Confidence mattered.
Belief mattered.
History mattered.
Players remembered previous victories.
Players remembered previous defeats.
Everyone did.
Even if they pretended otherwise.
Elsewhere, however, a very different conversation was taking place.
Several newspapers that traditionally leaned toward Chelsea coverage had begun framing the tie differently.
Not as a continuation of Arsenal's dominance.
But as an opportunity.
A chance.
A moment for redemption.
Headlines appeared almost daily.
CAN CONTE FINALLY BREAK THE ARSENAL CURSE?
TIME FOR CHELSEA TO END FRANCESCO'S REIGN
THE PERFECT MOMENT FOR REVENGE
The language grew increasingly dramatic.
Increasingly emotional.
Increasingly desperate.
Because from Chelsea's perspective, there was an uncomfortable truth.
The longer the streak continued, the bigger it became.
The bigger it became, the more pressure it created.
And pressure was dangerous.
One former Chelsea player spent nearly ten minutes discussing it on television.
"Look, eventually enough is enough."
"You can't keep talking about previous matches."
"You have to create your own result."
"You have to stop worrying about Francesco."
"You have to stop worrying about Arsenal."
"You have to play your football."
The presenter immediately asked the obvious question.
"Have Chelsea managed that in the last three years?"
The former player paused.
A long pause.
The sort of pause that accidentally answered the question.
"Not consistently."
The studio laughed.
Even he laughed.
Because there wasn't much else to do.
Meanwhile Arsenal-supporting media outlets were having a wonderful time.
An absolutely wonderful time.
Every statistic seemed to support their argument.
Every previous meeting strengthened their confidence.
Every discussion somehow ended in the same place.
Arsenal superiority.
One article described Arsenal as Chelsea's "football nightmare."
Another called Francesco "the blue wall's recurring problem."
A particularly dramatic columnist wrote:
"Chelsea have spent three years searching for a solution. Arsenal continue changing managers, formations, personnel, and tactics without changing the outcome."
That article was framed inside Arsenal's dressing room by lunchtime.
Not officially.
Unofficially.
Courtesy of Kyle Walker.
Naturally.
Francesco discovered it taped above his locker.
Alongside approximately twelve handwritten comments from teammates.
Most of them unhelpful.
One simply read:
"Recurring Problem."
Another said:
"Please continue recurring."
Walker had signed both.
Francesco wasn't even remotely surprised.
As the days ticked closer to the second leg, the noise only increased.
Press conferences.
Television specials.
Prediction shows.
Radio phone-ins.
Social media arguments.
Everyone had an opinion.
Everyone had a prediction.
Everyone believed they understood exactly what would happen.
Some insisted Chelsea would finally break through.
Others insisted Arsenal would continue their dominance.
Supporters argued endlessly online.
Statistics appeared everywhere.
Historical records resurfaced.
Old goals were replayed repeatedly.
The first-leg winner from Stamford Bridge appeared on television so often that Francesco felt like he had scored it six times instead of once.
Yet inside London Colney?
The atmosphere remained remarkably calm.
Because Wenger would not allow anything else.
One morning, after another tactical session focused on Chelsea's strengths and weaknesses, a journalist asked Wenger directly about the so-called curse.
The Frenchman looked genuinely confused.
"A curse?"
The reporter nodded.
"Chelsea haven't beaten Arsenal since Francesco emerged."
Wenger blinked.
Then smiled.
A very Wenger response was coming.
Everyone could sense it.
"Football is not magic."
A few journalists laughed.
The manager continued.
"There are no curses."
"There are no spells."
"There are only performances."
He folded his arms.
"If Chelsea play better than us, they can win."
"If we play better than Chelsea, we can win."
"Everything else is for television."
The room erupted into laughter.
Somewhere, several television producers probably felt personally attacked.
Wenger didn't care.
Because he believed every word.
And more importantly?
His players believed it too.
The manager never allowed them to become prisoners of narratives.
Never allowed them to become distracted by headlines.
Never allowed them to think previous victories guaranteed future victories.
Every match began at 0-0.
Every opponent deserved respect.
Every challenge required effort.
That mindset had built champions.
Back on the training pitch, preparations continued.
Hazard's movement.
Morata's positioning.
Alonso's overlaps.
Moses' runs.
Everything rehearsed.
Everything studied.
Everything discussed.
The closer the match came, the sharper the sessions became.
Passes moved faster.
Challenges became more competitive.
Intensity increased naturally.
Not because coaches demanded it.
Because players felt it.
Wembley was close enough to see now.
Close enough to imagine.
Close enough to touch.
And that changed everything.
One afternoon after training, Francesco found himself walking off the pitch beside Van Dijk.
The Dutch defender had just completed another excellent session.
As usual.
Some things never changed.
Ahead of them, the Emirates could almost be imagined.
The floodlights.
The supporters.
The atmosphere.
The occasion.
Van Dijk glanced sideways.
"You know they're talking about the streak everywhere."
Francesco laughed.
"I've noticed."
"Does it bother you?"
"Not really."
The defender nodded.
That answer sounded exactly right.
After a few moments, Francesco looked toward the training pitches behind them.
Players were still finishing drills.
Coaches were collecting equipment.
Preparation continued.
As always.
"The thing is," Francesco said quietly, "none of that matters if we don't finish the job."
Van Dijk smiled.
A small smile.
The smile of somebody who completely agreed.
"Exactly."
Because that was the truth.
The media could talk.
Supporters could debate.
Pundits could argue.
Statistics could be repeated endlessly.
But eventually there came a moment when the noise disappeared.
A moment when none of it mattered.
A moment when only football remained.
Twenty-two players.
One stadium.
One place in the final.
And as Arsenal continued preparing beneath the cold January skies of London Colney, everyone inside the club understood the same thing.
Chelsea would arrive at the Emirates believing they could change the story, while Arsenal would arrive believing the story wasn't finished yet.
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Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 19 (2017)
Birthplace : London, England
Football Club : Arsenal First Team
Championship History : 2014/2015 Premier League, 2014/2015 FA Cup, 2015/2016 Community Shield, 2016/2017 Premier League, 2015/2016 Champions League, Euro 2016, Premier League Champion 2016/2017, and 2016/2017 Champions League.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 35
Goal: 42
Assist: 2
MOTM: 5
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 2
Goal: 2
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
Season 16/17 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 55
Goal: 87
Assist: 5
MOTM: 14
POTM: 1
England:
Match: 1
Goal: 1
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
Season 15/16 stats:
Arsenal:
Match Played: 60
Goal: 82
Assist: 10
MOTM: 9
POTM: 1
England:
Match Played: 2
Goal: 4
Assist: 0
Euro 2016
Match Played: 6
Goal: 13
Assist: 4
MOTM: 6
Season 14/15 stats:
Match Played: 35
Goal: 45
Assist: 12
MOTM: 9