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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
Arsenal's dominance over Chelsea wasn't ending tonight while instead, it had carried them all the way to a cup final.
The noise inside the Emirates refused to disappear.
Even several minutes after the final whistle, the stadium still felt alive.
Not the frantic energy of the match itself.
Something warmer.
Something happier.
The kind of atmosphere that only existed after qualification had been secured.
Supporters remained in their seats.
Families posed for photographs.
Scarves remained raised.
Songs continued drifting through the cold North London air.
Nobody seemed particularly interested in leaving.
Why would they be?
Wembley awaited.
Another final awaited.
Another opportunity awaited.
And moments like that deserved to be enjoyed.
Francesco stood near the Arsenal supporters for a few more minutes alongside the rest of the squad.
The players applauded the crowd.
The crowd applauded them back.
A simple exchange.
Yet one that never lost its meaning.
Especially after nights like this.
Eventually the players began spreading out across the pitch.
Some heading toward family members in the stands.
Others exchanging shirts.
Others simply catching their breath after an emotionally exhausting evening.
Francesco adjusted the sleeves of his shirt and started walking toward the center circle.
That was when he noticed Eden Hazard approaching.
The Belgian had the same expression most Chelsea players wore tonight.
Disappointed.
But professional.
Football could be cruel.
Sometimes you played well and still lost.
Sometimes you created chances and still went home empty-handed.
Hazard understood that better than most.
As the two players met near midfield, they immediately exchanged a firm handshake.
"Congratulations," Hazard said.
His voice carried genuine respect.
"No excuses."
"You deserved it."
Francesco nodded.
"Thanks."
"You made it difficult."
Hazard laughed quietly.
"We tried."
"You always do."
For a moment they simply stood there.
Two elite footballers.
Two rivals.
Yet also two players who understood exactly how difficult football at this level could be.
Hazard glanced toward the Arsenal supporters still singing behind one goal.
"You lot never stop beating us."
Francesco smiled.
"That sounds like a Chelsea problem."
Hazard groaned dramatically.
"See?"
"This is why I don't like talking to you after matches."
That earned a genuine laugh from both of them.
Then Hazard extended his hand again.
"Good luck in the final."
"Thanks."
"You better win it now."
"We'll try."
The Belgian nodded before heading toward his teammates.
His evening was over.
His cup run was over.
But his class remained obvious.
A few minutes later another familiar figure approached.
Thibaut Courtois.
The Chelsea goalkeeper had been outstanding once again.
Just as he had been in the first leg.
Without him, the aggregate score could have looked considerably worse.
The giant Belgian offered a handshake.
"Congratulations."
"Thank you."
Courtois shook his head.
"Three years."
Francesco laughed immediately.
"Not this again."
"Three years."
The goalkeeper repeated it.
"We need to figure out whatever this thing is."
"What thing?"
Courtois pointed between them.
"This."
Francesco looked confused.
"You being annoyingly successful against us."
"That sounds even more like a Chelsea problem."
Courtois sighed dramatically.
"Everybody says that."
"Because it's true."
The goalkeeper laughed despite himself.
Then his expression softened slightly.
"Seriously though."
"Well done."
"You have a good squad."
"So do you."
"Not tonight."
"Still do."
Courtois appreciated that answer.
Footballers noticed those things.
Respect mattered.
Especially between competitors who met regularly.
Another handshake followed.
Then the Belgian moved away toward the tunnel.
Francesco watched him go for a moment.
Courtois had always been one of the best goalkeepers in the world.
Tonight had changed nothing.
Not every Chelsea player approached, however.
One player remained elsewhere.
Keeping his distance.
Not looking particularly interested in post-match conversations.
Cesc Fàbregas.
The former Arsenal midfielder was speaking with several Chelsea staff members near the technical area.
Their eyes briefly met across the pitch.
Just briefly.
Nothing hostile.
Nothing dramatic.
No angry confrontation.
No exchange of words.
Just a glance.
Then both looked elsewhere.
Football sometimes worked like that.
Not every story required a conversation.
Not every relationship needed closure.
The moment passed naturally.
Soon afterward, while Francesco was making his way toward the touchline, he heard someone calling his name.
"Francesco!"
He turned.
An FA official wearing accreditation around his neck was jogging toward him.
"Got a moment?"
Francesco already knew what was coming.
Post-match interviews.
The unavoidable part of modern football.
The official smiled.
"We'd like you for the pitchside interview."
Of course they would.
Francesco glanced toward the tunnel.
Then toward the opposite touchline.
A television setup had already been prepared.
Cameras.
Lighting.
Microphones.
The entire production team standing ready.
And waiting beside them stood the interviewer.
Holding a microphone.
Watching him approach.
Ready to begin.
The official pointed toward the setup.
"They're ready whenever you are."
Francesco nodded.
"No problem."
As he walked across the pitch, several Arsenal supporters near the front rows noticed where he was heading.
The reaction was immediate.
His name began echoing from sections of the stadium.
Then other sections joined in.
The chant spread.
Growing louder.
The interviewer heard it too.
And smiled.
"Popular tonight."
"Apparently."
"You scored the winner in the first leg."
"Fair point."
The interviewer laughed.
A microphone was clipped into place.
Camera operators adjusted positions.
Final instructions were exchanged.
The red recording light illuminated.
And just like that, they were live.
The interviewer turned toward him with a professional smile.
"Francesco, first of all, congratulations."
"Arsenal win the second leg tonight."
"You've reached the Carabao Cup Final."
"How does that feel?"
The crowd behind them cheered loudly.
Francesco glanced briefly toward the supporters before answering.
"It feels great."
"Really great."
"We knew before kickoff how difficult this match would be."
"Chelsea are an excellent team."
"They have world-class players."
"They came here needing goals and they started strongly."
He nodded thoughtfully.
"So reaching the final is something we're proud of."
"But we've earned it."
The interviewer smiled.
"You mention Chelsea starting strongly."
"Hazard's goal after nine minutes probably wasn't how Arsenal imagined the evening beginning."
Francesco laughed.
"No."
"Definitely not."
"That wasn't part of the plan."
The crowd chuckled.
"But I actually thought our response was excellent."
"We didn't panic."
"We didn't lose our shape."
"We kept believing."
"And then Nacho scores."
He smiled.
"That changed the feeling of the match completely."
The interviewer nodded.
"Wenger made a big decision tonight."
"You and Alexis Sánchez both started on the bench."
"A lot of supporters were surprised."
"Were you surprised?"
Francesco shook his head immediately.
"No."
"Not really."
"The manager explained everything."
"We've had a lot of matches recently."
"The schedule has been crazy."
"FA Cup."
"Premier League."
"Carabao Cup."
"More Premier League."
He shrugged slightly.
"Sometimes rotation is necessary."
"And honestly?"
"I thought the players who started were brilliant."
"Look at the performance."
"We won three-one."
"We reached the final."
"The manager was right."
A few Arsenal supporters behind the camera applauded loudly at that answer.
The interviewer smiled.
"That's probably exactly what Wenger wants to hear."
"Hopefully."
Another laugh spread around the area.
The interviewer glanced down briefly at his notes.
Then looked back up.
"One player who deserves special mention tonight is Jack Wilshere."
"He's fought through injuries."
"He's worked incredibly hard to get back."
"And once again he was excellent."
"What have you made of his return?"
The question immediately made Francesco smile.
Because everyone inside Arsenal appreciated what Wilshere had been through.
"I'm really happy for him."
"Honestly."
"He loves this club."
"Everyone knows that."
"And injuries can be difficult."
"Not just physically."
"Mentally too."
"So seeing him come back and play the way he's playing now…"
He shook his head admiringly.
"It's brilliant."
"Tonight he was outstanding."
"But that's becoming normal again."
The interviewer nodded.
Then his expression brightened.
"Let's talk about the youngsters."
Immediately the crowd cheered again.
Because they knew exactly who was about to be mentioned.
"Bukayo Saka."
"Emile Smith Rowe."
"One scores his first professional goal."
"The other gets his first official assist."
"What was going through your mind watching that happen?"
This time Francesco didn't answer immediately.
Instead he looked briefly toward the Arsenal players still celebrating near the far side of the pitch.
Saka.
Smith Rowe.
Laughing together.
Surrounded by teammates.
The sight alone seemed to make him smile.
"Honestly?"
"I loved it."
"Absolutely loved it."
The crowd applauded.
"Because that's what football should be about."
"You work your whole life for moments like that."
"You spend years in the academy."
"You train every day."
"You dream about scoring for Arsenal."
"And then suddenly it actually happens."
His smile widened.
"Bukayo probably won't sleep tonight."
The interviewer laughed.
"Probably not."
"And Emile won't stop talking about the assist."
More laughter followed.
"But seriously."
"They deserve it."
"They work hard."
"They listen."
"They improve every week."
"And seeing them experience a moment like that in a semi-final…"
He shook his head.
"It's special."
Very special.
The interviewer allowed that answer to settle for a moment.
Then moved toward the question everyone expected.
The question the media had spent an entire week discussing.
"Francesco."
"Before this tie, there was endless discussion about Arsenal's record against Chelsea."
The crowd reacted immediately.
Some boos.
Some laughter.
The interviewer continued.
"Three years."
"No defeats."
"Now another victory."
"Another qualification."
"What do you make of all that talk?"
Francesco immediately smiled.
Because he already knew exactly what he was going to say.
"The same thing Arsène said."
The interviewer laughed.
"Which was?"
"Football isn't magic."
That answer earned a huge reaction from the Arsenal supporters.
Laughter.
Applause.
Cheers.
Everything at once.
Francesco continued.
"There are no curses."
"There are no secret formulas."
"There are no supernatural explanations."
"Just football."
"Every match starts at zero-zero."
"Every match is different."
"We respect Chelsea."
"A lot."
"They're a fantastic team."
"But we also believe in ourselves."
"And tonight we played very well."
The interviewer nodded approvingly.
"A very diplomatic answer."
"I've been trained well."
"By Wenger?"
"By surviving interviews."
That generated another round of laughter.
Even several members of the production crew smiled.
Then the interviewer looked toward the main camera.
"One final question."
"Wembley awaits."
The crowd immediately cheered again.
Just hearing the word Wembley seemed enough.
"You're through to the final."
"You've already won trophies."
"You've already won league titles."
"You've already won individual awards."
"But what does reaching another final mean to you?"
For the first time during the interview, Francesco became slightly more serious.
Not unhappy.
Just thoughtful.
Because finals always meant something.
No matter how many you played.
No matter how many you won.
"Everything."
The answer came quietly.
Honestly.
"That's why you play football."
"To compete for trophies."
"To experience these moments."
"To give supporters days they'll remember."
He looked around the Emirates.
The floodlights.
The fans.
The noise.
The memories being created.
Then he looked back toward the interviewer.
"We're excited."
"We're proud."
"But we haven't achieved anything yet."
"Reaching the final is important."
"Winning the final is the goal."
The interviewer nodded.
A strong answer.
The answer of someone already thinking ahead.
Already focused on the next challenge.
"Well, congratulations once again."
"Arsenal are heading to Wembley."
"Thanks for your time."
"Thank you."
The interview concluded.
The cameras stopped rolling.
The microphone was removed.
Immediately several Arsenal supporters behind the setup began chanting his name again.
Loudly.
Passionately.
Francesco waved toward them.
And couldn't help smiling.
Because tonight had been a good night.
A very good night.
Chelsea had been beaten again.
The youngsters had enjoyed unforgettable moments
Then the chants were still echoing around the Emirates when Francesco finally stepped away from the touchline.
The interview had ended.
The cameras had switched off.
The microphones had been packed away.
Yet the atmosphere refused to die.
It lingered everywhere.
In the stands.
In the concourses.
In the smiles of supporters who still hadn't left their seats.
Wembley had a strange effect on people.
Even reaching the final felt like an achievement worth celebrating.
As Francesco made his way toward the tunnel, several stadium staff members congratulated him.
A steward offered a quick thumbs-up.
One of the camera operators grinned.
"See you at Wembley."
Francesco laughed.
"Hopefully."
The walk back through the tunnel felt different from before kickoff.
The tension was gone.
The uncertainty had disappeared.
Only satisfaction remained.
Not complete satisfaction.
Wenger never allowed complete satisfaction before trophies were actually won.
But satisfaction nonetheless.
A job completed.
A challenge overcome.
One more step taken.
The dressing room door opened.
Immediately the familiar post-match atmosphere greeted him.
Music.
Laughter.
Conversations happening everywhere at once.
Players relaxing after ninety exhausting minutes.
Some were already changing.
Others sat with ice packs strapped to knees and ankles.
A few were replaying moments from the match with dramatic exaggeration.
The usual football dressing room behavior.
Saka happened to be at the center of most of it.
Naturally.
The teenager barely had time to sit down before teammates surrounded him again.
Walker was the loudest.
Of course he was.
"You scored one goal and now you're famous."
"I don't think that's how it works."
"It absolutely is."
"No, it isn't."
"It is now."
The room erupted into laughter.
Saka buried his face in his hands.
Robertson pointed toward him.
"Look at him."
"What?"
"He's already embarrassed."
"Good."
More laughter followed.
Smith Rowe wasn't escaping either.
Several players had already started congratulating him on the assist.
Ramsey walked past and slapped him gently on the shoulder.
"Good ball."
Emile grinned.
"Decent run too."
"Don't get confident."
"Too late."
That earned another round of laughter.
Francesco shook his head as he moved toward his locker.
The atmosphere reminded him of something important.
Winning was enjoyable.
Winning with academy players contributing?
That felt even better.
Eventually he grabbed a towel and headed toward the showers.
The hot water felt incredible.
The kind of relief only footballers truly understood after a physically demanding evening.
For several minutes he simply stood there.
Letting the exhaustion wash away.
The match replayed itself naturally inside his head.
Hazard's goal.
Monreal's equalizer.
Giroud's header.
Saka's finish.
The celebrations.
The supporters.
The noise.
Football always moved quickly.
Yet some nights stayed with you longer than others.
Tonight felt like one of those nights.
By the time he finished showering, much of the squad had already begun changing.
Francesco pulled on an Arsenal jumpsuit and returned to his locker.
The comfortable post-match routine had fully taken over now.
Phones appeared.
Messages were checked.
Family members were contacted.
Highlights were already circulating online.
Walker was somehow watching Saka's goal for approximately the fifteenth time.
"You know," Walker announced loudly, "I think it gets better every replay."
"You've said that fourteen times."
"Fifteen."
"That's worse."
"It is."
Before Walker could continue defending his scientific replay theory, the dressing room door opened.
The room naturally became quieter.
Not silent.
Just quieter.
Because Arsène Wenger had entered.
The manager looked considerably happier than he had before kickoff.
Still composed.
Still elegant.
Still Wenger.
But there was unmistakable satisfaction in his expression.
Players noticed immediately.
The manager looked around the room.
His eyes moving from player to player.
Then eventually stopping on two people.
Francesco.
And Bukayo Saka.
The teenager immediately looked nervous.
Which only made several teammates smile.
Wenger folded his arms.
"Francesco."
"Boss."
"Bukayo."
Saka looked up immediately.
"Yes, boss?"
The Frenchman smiled slightly.
"You're both coming with me."
Saka blinked.
"Coming where?"
The entire room already knew the answer.
Which made the reactions even funnier.
Walker immediately pointed dramatically.
"Oh no."
Robertson joined in.
"It's happening."
Saka looked between them.
"What?"
"The press conference."
The teenager froze.
The entire dressing room burst into laughter.
His expression was priceless.
The look of someone who had just realized the evening wasn't finished yet.
Wenger almost laughed himself.
Almost.
"The media would like to speak with you."
Saka swallowed.
"Me?"
"Yes."
The manager raised an eyebrow.
"You did score."
That triggered another wave of laughter.
"I know but…"
The teenager looked around helplessly.
"What do I even say?"
Walker immediately answered.
"Start by thanking me."
"No."
"You're welcome."
"That doesn't even make sense."
"It doesn't need to."
Francesco stood and zipped up his jumpsuit.
"Relax."
Saka looked unconvinced.
"I'm serious."
"It'll be fine."
Walker pointed again.
"Famous people don't get nervous."
"I'm not famous."
"You scored against Chelsea in a semi-final."
The room collectively nodded.
Walker spread his arms triumphantly.
"Exactly."
Saka groaned.
The dressing room laughed once more.
Eventually Wenger shook his head.
"Come on."
That was enough.
The manager headed toward the corridor.
Francesco followed.
Saka followed too.
Looking slightly like a man walking toward an exam he hadn't studied for.
As they left, several teammates offered helpful final advice.
Most of it terrible.
"Don't say anything controversial!"
"Don't fall asleep!"
"Ask for a pay rise!"
"Definitely don't do that!"
The door closed behind them.
Mercifully ending the chaos.
The walk toward the media room wasn't particularly long.
Yet for Saka it probably felt endless.
Reporters and television crews moved through the corridors.
Security staff directed people toward different interview areas.
The entire stadium operation continued functioning around them.
Francesco glanced sideways.
Saka looked deep in thought.
"Nervous?"
"A little."
"That's normal."
"Was your first press conference this weird?"
Francesco laughed.
"My first press conference was much worse."
"Seriously?"
"Much worse."
"How?"
"I accidentally answered a question that wasn't meant for me."
Saka stared.
"What?"
"Long story."
The teenager immediately looked slightly more relaxed.
"Okay, that's actually reassuring."
"See?"
"If you survived that, I should survive this."
"Exactly."
A few moments later they arrived at the press conference room.
And suddenly the scale of it became obvious.
Rows of journalists.
Television cameras.
Photographers.
Microphones arranged neatly across the table.
The Arsenal backdrop behind the seats.
The room was already packed.
Word had spread quickly.
Arsenal had reached the final.
Saka had scored.
People wanted answers.
The moment Francesco and Saka entered alongside Wenger, camera flashes immediately erupted.
Photographers capturing everything.
The youngster blinked several times.
Not because of nerves.
Because of the lights.
Wenger noticed.
"Welcome to professional football."
Saka laughed despite himself.
The three took their seats.
Wenger in the center.
Francesco to one side.
Saka to the other.
The moderator welcomed everyone.
Then the press conference began.
The first reporter stood immediately.
"Arsène, congratulations on reaching the final."
"Thank you."
The journalist nodded.
"Francesco, congratulations."
"Thank you."
Then his attention shifted.
"And Bukayo, congratulations on your first professional goal."
The room applauded lightly.
Saka looked surprised.
Then smiled.
"Thank you very much."
The reporter continued.
"Let's start with you."
Of course.
Everyone wanted Saka.
The teenager had become the story of the evening.
"What does tonight feel like?"
For a second Saka looked almost overwhelmed.
Not by pressure.
By the reality of the question.
Because the answer clearly meant something to him.
"Amazing."
The word came naturally.
Honestly.
"Amazing."
He shook his head slightly.
"I'm not sure it's fully sunk in yet."
Several journalists smiled.
"I've dreamed about playing for Arsenal since I was a kid."
"Dreamed about scoring."
"Dreamed about nights like this."
His smile widened.
"And then suddenly it actually happens."
The room listened carefully.
No rehearsed answer.
No media training.
Just genuine emotion.
"It still feels a little unreal."
The journalists seemed to appreciate that.
The honesty.
The authenticity.
Another hand immediately rose.
"Bukayo, can you describe the goal?"
The teenager laughed.
"I've already watched it about ten times."
That generated laughter throughout the room.
"Only ten?" Francesco asked.
Saka pointed toward him.
"Okay, maybe twenty."
More laughter.
The youngster continued.
"When Emile got the ball, I just made the run."
"I hoped he'd see it."
"He did."
He smiled toward the cameras.
"The pass was perfect."
"Honestly, he deserves a lot of credit."
A reporter quickly jumped in.
"So you're giving the assist more credit than the goal?"
"Absolutely."
The room laughed again.
Somewhere else in the stadium, Smith Rowe would probably be very pleased with that answer.
Another journalist raised her hand.
"Francesco."
"Over here."
He nodded.
"Tonight must have been enjoyable for you."
"You started on the bench."
"But you watched several academy players help send Arsenal to Wembley."
"What was that experience like?"
Francesco glanced briefly toward Saka.
Then answered.
"One of the best parts of the night."
The room became quieter.
Because he clearly meant it.
"When you're young, you dream about opportunities."
"You just need someone to trust you."
He nodded toward Wenger.
"Our manager has always believed in young players."
"Tonight you saw why."
"Saka was excellent."
"Smith Rowe was excellent."
"Nketiah was excellent."
"They earned those moments."
The journalists scribbled notes immediately.
Several cameras focused on Wenger.
The manager looked quietly pleased.
Another question followed almost instantly.
"Arsène."
"Was it difficult deciding to leave Francesco and Sánchez on the bench?"
The manager smiled.
"No."
That answer surprised several reporters.
Wenger continued.
"I trust my squad."
"I trusted them at Stamford Bridge."
"I trusted them tonight."
His gaze moved briefly toward Saka.
"And they rewarded that trust."
Several journalists nodded.
That felt very Wenger.
Belief.
Trust.
Patience.
The themes never really changed.
Then came another question for Saka.
And another.
Then another.
Before long the youngster had become the center of attention.
Exactly as everyone expected.
One journalist asked about his family.
Another asked who he called first after scoring.
A third asked whether he had kept the match ball.
"I forgot to ask for it."
The room laughed.
"You forgot?"
"I was celebrating."
"Fair enough."
Even Wenger chuckled at that one.
As the questions continued, Saka gradually became more comfortable.
The nervousness faded.
Confidence replaced it.
Not arrogance.
Just comfort.
The realization that reporters weren't monsters.
Just people asking questions.
At one point a journalist asked him what he would remember most from the night.
The answer came instantly.
"The noise."
The room became quiet again.
"The moment the ball went in."
He smiled.
"I don't think I've ever heard anything that loud."
He glanced toward Francesco.
"Maybe he has."
That earned a warm laugh.
Francesco shook his head.
"Trust me."
"Your first goal always sounds louder."
For a brief moment the room seemed to appreciate the answer.
Because everyone knew it was true.
No matter how many goals a player scored.
The first one remained different.
Special.
Permanent.
Eventually the press conference began winding down.
The questions slowed.
The notebooks started closing.
The cameras remained rolling.
One final journalist stood.
A veteran reporter who had covered English football for decades.
His question wasn't directed at Wenger.
Or Francesco.
It was directed at Saka.
"If you could go back and tell the younger version of yourself something tonight…"
The room became silent.
The journalist smiled.
"What would it be?"
Saka paused.
Really paused.
Thinking carefully.
The answer mattered.
Then eventually he smiled.
A genuine smile.
The smile of someone living a dream.
"I'd tell him to keep going."
The room remained silent.
Listening.
"There are days when training is hard."
"There are days when things don't work."
"There are days when you wonder if you'll ever get there."
He looked around the room.
At the cameras.
At Wenger.
At Francesco.
Then back toward the journalists.
"But if you keep working…"
His smile widened.
"Sometimes you get nights like this."
For a second nobody spoke.
Then applause filled the room.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just sincere.
The kind of applause that couldn't be faked.
Because everyone in the room knew they had just witnessed something special.
Not just a footballer scoring a goal.
A young player experiencing the first real spotlight of his career and judging by the smiles around the room, it wouldn't be the last time.
______________________________________________
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