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...
But in that quiet moment between family, love and football, it no longer felt like history as it simply felt like home.
The celebrations had lasted only as long as they deserved.
Not because they had been unimportant.
Far from it.
The memories created at Old Trafford would remain with every member of Arsenal for the rest of their lives. The images of Francesco lifting the Premier League trophy beneath a shower of red-and-white confetti had already become iconic. Newspapers across Europe devoted entire front pages to Arsenal's unprecedented fourth consecutive league title. Television stations replayed the celebrations on an endless loop. Social media filled with photographs of smiling players embracing their families beneath the floodlights.
Yet inside London Colney, those images disappeared remarkably quickly.
By mutual agreement, no one needed reminding why.
The Premier League season had produced history.
The UEFA Champions League still offered immortality.
Three mornings after Manchester, the commemorative shirts had vanished from the dressing room.
The Premier League trophy remained safely displayed inside the club offices rather than beside the training pitches.
Video clips of celebrations were replaced by footage from Rome.
The laughter remained as this squad would never lose that, but beneath it lay the familiar edge that had carried Arsenal through another extraordinary campaign.
Nobody spoke about defending a five-goal advantage.
They spoke about winning another football match.
Thursday afternoon arrived beneath brilliant Italian sunshine.
The charter flight touched down at Leonardo da Vinci Airport shortly after midday before the squad made the short journey through Rome under police escort.
The city seemed almost untouched by football for much of the drive.
Ancient buildings stood beside bustling cafés.
Tourists filled narrow streets.
Scooters weaved effortlessly between traffic.
Then, as the coach approached the district surrounding the Stadio Olimpico, the atmosphere changed completely.
Red and yellow began appearing everywhere.
Roma scarves hung from balconies.
Supporters gathered outside cafés watching pre-match coverage on outdoor televisions.
Large banners stretched between lamp posts.
Smoke from flares drifted lazily through the evening air despite kickoff still being several hours away.
Walker looked through the coach window.
"They're already here."
Robertson followed his gaze.
"They've been here for hours."
Along the roadside, thousands of Roma supporters lined the streets behind security barriers.
Many beat enormous drums.
Others waved massive Giallorossi flags that rippled dramatically in the breeze.
Songs echoed from every direction, growing louder as Arsenal's coach crawled towards the players' entrance.
The noise never truly stopped.
Some supporters whistled.
Some applauded ironically.
Others simply stared silently at the passing coach, determined to remind Arsenal that the second leg would be anything but comfortable.
Despite the intimidating welcome, another sound gradually emerged.
Four thousand Arsenal supporters occupied one corner near the stadium entrance, proudly dressed in red and white despite being vastly outnumbered.
They had travelled across Europe believing not only in qualification, but in the standards their team had built all season.
Their chants rose above the surrounding noise.
"Arsenal… Arsenal… Arsenal…"
Francesco watched them through the glass.
"They've come a long way."
Giroud smiled from two rows behind.
"So have we."
The coach finally rolled beneath the concrete overhang leading to the secure underground entrance.
Security officers quickly formed a corridor.
The doors opened.
Immediately, the roar from outside flooded inside.
One after another, Arsenal's players stepped onto Italian soil carrying backpacks and boot bags.
Camera shutters fired relentlessly.
Television crews shouted questions that nobody answered.
Francesco adjusted the strap over his shoulder before briefly acknowledging the travelling supporters with a wave.
Their response was immediate.
His name echoed around the entrance.
He smiled once.
Then continued inside.
Professionalism first..
The concrete corridors beneath the Stadio Olimpico carried a character all their own.
Old photographs celebrating Roma's history decorated the walls.
The occasional sound of drums filtered faintly through the structure above.
Staff members moved efficiently between dressing rooms carrying equipment and refreshments.
Arsenal's dressing room had already been prepared to perfection.
Every shirt hung neatly inside individual lockers.
Each pair of boots waited beneath them.
Recovery stations occupied one corner.
Massage tables had already been arranged.
Medical supplies rested exactly where Shad Forsythe expected to find them.
The routine unfolded almost without conversation.
Training tops replaced travel clothing.
Players unpacked boots.
Tape was applied.
Ankles were checked.
Heart-rate monitors fitted.
The medical staff quietly moved from player to player completing final assessments.
Shad glanced toward Kanté after checking one of the monitoring tablets.
"Everything good?"
Kanté smiled.
"I feel ready."
"I expected that answer."
Nearby, Walker stretched carefully.
Robertson looked over.
"No complaints today?"
Walker considered it.
"I'll save them until tomorrow."
"That's progress."
Van Dijk chuckled while tightening his boots.
"He's finally maturing."
"I resent that."
"No," Robertson replied.
"You'll survive it."
Across the room, Čech and David Raya completed goalkeeper mobility exercises under Gerry Peyton's watchful eye.
Every stretch.
Every movement.
Every catch.
Nothing differed from any other European night.
That consistency comforted everyone.
Big matches did not require dramatic changes.
They demanded trust in established routines.
Steve Bould eventually appeared beside the doorway.
"Ten minutes."
Heads nodded throughout the room.
Final bottles were collected.
Training jackets zipped.
One by one, Arsenal's players followed the coaching staff through another tunnel before climbing the final staircase toward the pitch.
The first glimpse of the Stadio Olimpico never failed to impress.
Floodlights bathed the famous stadium in brilliant white despite twilight still lingering above Rome.
Huge red-and-yellow mosaics stretched across entire sections of seating.
Massive banners cascaded from the Curva Sud.
Drums pounded continuously.
Thousands of flags swayed together like waves upon the sea.
The sound struck with almost physical force.
Every Arsenal player paused instinctively for half a second before stepping fully onto the immaculate playing surface.
Then the travelling support came into view.
High above one corner, surrounded by home supporters, Arsenal's fans responded with deafening cheers.
Scarves lifted proudly.
Flags bearing the famous cannon fluttered defiantly.
Walker looked upward.
"They've definitely made themselves heard."
"They always do," Francesco replied.
"They always will."
The warm-up began immediately.
Fitness coaches quickly arranged cones into familiar patterns.
Dynamic stretching came first.
High knees.
Lunges.
Hip mobility.
Acceleration drills.
The squad moved together with effortless rhythm built through months of repetition.
Once muscles had loosened, footballs appeared.
Passing squares formed across the pitch.
Özil stood between Kanté and Xhaka, receiving and releasing the ball with elegant economy.
Francesco drifted constantly between mannequins representing defenders before laying passes into runners.
The tempo increased naturally.
"Quicker," Bould encouraged.
"One touch if you can."
The football travelled beautifully.
Roma supporters whistled every completed sequence.
Arsenal ignored them.
Walker and Robertson then peeled toward wide channels for crossing exercises.
Repeated overlaps.
Early deliveries.
Driven cut-backs.
Alexis attacked near-post spaces with trademark aggression while Gnabry timed delayed runs toward the far post.
Francesco alternated between both positions, sometimes finishing first time, sometimes cushioning the ball before finding the corner.
Several strikes drew appreciative applause from the away end.
At the opposite goal, Čech worked separately with Gerry Peyton.
Close-range reactions.
Low saves.
Cross collection.
Distribution under pressure.
Raya mirrored the same routine beside him.
Nearby, substitutes including Giroud, Ramsey, Cazorla, Saka, Smith Rowe, Holding, Mustafi, Bellerín, Nketiah and the rest of the bench completed intense possession games before moving into finishing drills.
Giroud thundered one volley beyond Raya.
"Finally," Walker shouted.
"You've found the target."
Giroud spread his arms theatrically.
"I was simply waiting for Italy."
Laughter drifted naturally across the group.
Even Wenger smiled faintly from the touchline.
The final exercise focused on pressing.
Two teams.
Limited touches.
Immediate counter-press after every turnover.
Exactly as Arsenal intended to play.
For several minutes the only sounds were whistles, shouted instructions and the crisp rhythm of passing.
No complacency.
No hint of protecting a lead.
Only preparation.
As the session ended, every Arsenal player walked together toward the away supporters.
Applause flowed both ways.
Many supporters raised banners thanking the team for an unforgettable season.
Francesco clapped above his head before placing a hand briefly over the club crest.
Then the squad disappeared back inside.
Hot showers washed away the sweat from the warm-up.
Steam drifted across the dressing room.
Within minutes, red training tops gave way to Arsenal's famous match kit.
White shorts.
Red shirts with white sleeves.
Red socks.
Francesco carefully fastened the captain's armband before sitting quietly while Wenger waited for everyone to finish.
Once every player had taken a seat, the manager stepped forward.
His expression remained composed.
"The team is unchanged."
Nobody looked surprised.
He named them anyway.
"Petr."
"Kyle."
"Virgil."
"Laurent."
"Andrew."
The defensive line nodded.
"N'Golo."
"Granit."
Then the attacking unit.
"Mesut."
"Alexis."
"Serge."
Finally—
"Francesco."
The captain met Wenger's eyes.
"We're ready."
"I know."
Wenger turned the tactical board around.
Roma's shape appeared immediately.
"They'll begin with Alisson in goal."
His marker moved across the board.
"Aleksandar Kolarov."
"Federico Fazio."
"Kostas Manolas."
"Alessandro Florenzi."
Then midfield.
"Daniele De Rossi."
"Lorenzo Pellegrini."
"Radja Nainggolan."
Finally the front three.
"Stephan El Shaarawy."
"Patrik Schick."
"Edin Džeko."
The room studied the magnets carefully.
"They will play 4-3-3."
"They have no alternative."
Wenger looked around the room.
"They trail by five goals."
"So from the opening whistle…"
"…they will attack."
He paused.
"They must."
Steve Bould tapped the board lightly.
"They'll commit numbers."
"They'll press aggressively."
"They'll try to create chaos."
Wenger nodded.
"And we refuse to give them chaos."
His finger moved across Arsenal's midfield.
"We stay composed."
"We trust our possession."
"When we lose the ball…"
"We press together."
His voice remained calm.
"And one more thing."
The room waited.
"We are not coming here to defend a lead."
Several players smiled.
"We attack."
Roma's greatest expectation, Wenger explained, would be that Arsenal retreated into a defensive shell.
"They will expect fear."
He shook his head gently.
"We give them courage instead."
Walker grinned.
"I like that plan."
"So do I," Alexis added.
Francesco leaned forward slightly.
"If we keep playing our football…"
"…they'll have to worry about us."
"Exactly," Wenger replied.
"Be brave."
"Be intelligent."
"And enjoy another European night."
He clapped once.
"Let's go."
The tunnel leading toward the Stadio Olimpico glowed beneath bright white lighting.
Roma's players emerged from their dressing room almost simultaneously.
Daniele De Rossi led them with characteristic determination.
The Italian captain's face reflected complete focus.
Five goals behind or not, surrender had never belonged in his vocabulary.
The refereeing team assembled first.
Both line-ups formed behind them.
Francesco and De Rossi exchanged a respectful handshake.
"Good luck."
De Rossi smiled faintly.
"We'll need more than luck."
Francesco answered honestly.
"So will we."
The walk onto the pitch unfolded beneath deafening noise.
Flames burst beside the entrance.
The Champions League anthem echoed magnificently around the stadium.
Supporters lifted coordinated displays across every stand.
The atmosphere carried unmistakable European intensity.
Both teams lined up.
Handshakes followed.
Officials first.
Then every opponent.
Francesco greeted Alisson warmly.
Kolarov.
Fazio.
Manolas.
Florenzi.
Nainggolan.
Džeko.
Professional respect before fierce competition.
The official team photographs came next.
Arsenal gathered shoulder to shoulder.
Čech crouched in front.
Francesco stood centrally with the captain's armband visible beneath the floodlights.
Camera shutters clicked rapidly.
Then only the captains remained.
The referee held the coin.
It spun high.
De Rossi called correctly.
"We'll take the right."
The referee nodded.
"Roma kick off."
Both captains shook hands again before jogging back into position.
⸻
The whistle pierced the Roman night.
Immediately, Roma surged forward.
There was no caution.
No patience.
De Rossi demanded the ball at every opportunity.
Nainggolan drove aggressively through midfield.
Kolarov advanced almost like a winger.
Florenzi attacked relentlessly from the opposite flank.
Within three minutes Džeko tested Čech with a powerful header.
The veteran goalkeeper caught confidently.
The stadium roared anyway.
Roma believed.
Every tackle drew thunderous approval.
Every Arsenal clearance was celebrated.
For ten relentless minutes, the home side threw everything forward.
Yet Arsenal never fractured.
Van Dijk organised constantly.
Walker and Robertson held disciplined positions.
Kanté quietly extinguished danger before it fully developed.
Francesco worked tirelessly from the front, pressing passing lanes rather than chasing recklessly.
Gradually, the rhythm shifted.
Arsenal began stringing passes together.
Five became ten.
Ten became fifteen.
Roma continued pressing.
Spaces slowly appeared.
In the twenty-first minute, those spaces proved fatal.
Xhaka found Özil.
Özil released Alexis down the left.
The Chilean waited patiently before slipping a perfectly weighted pass inside Manolas.
Francesco timed his run to perfection.
One touch carried him clear.
Alisson rushed forward.
Francesco remained composed.
His finish swept confidently beyond the Brazilian goalkeeper into the far corner.
Silence washed briefly across the Stadio Olimpico.
Only the away end erupted.
Arsenal led.
Martin Tyler's voice carried across the broadcast.
"And that may well settle the tie beyond any lingering doubt."
Alan Smith nodded.
"Clinical."
"Roma were chasing miracles."
"Arsenal have reminded everyone why they're champions."
To their credit, Roma refused to collapse.
Their supporters responded with even greater volume.
Nainggolan drove forward relentlessly.
Džeko battled Van Dijk and Koscielny with admirable determination.
Finally, in the thirty-fourth minute, persistence earned its reward.
Kolarov delivered a dangerous cross.
Schick challenged.
The loose ball fell kindly inside the area.
Džeko reacted first, driving a powerful finish beyond Čech.
The stadium erupted.
Roma had their goal.
The aggregate score still overwhelmingly favoured Arsenal, but belief returned, however briefly.
The remainder of the half unfolded at tremendous intensity.
Roma attacked.
Arsenal answered.
Neither side found another breakthrough.
Eventually the referee signalled for half-time.
Inside the dressing room, heavy breathing gradually settled into quiet concentration.
Wenger allowed everyone a moment to recover before speaking.
"You've been composed."
His eyes moved around the room.
"You've respected the occasion."
He nodded approvingly.
"But listen carefully."
Several players leaned forward.
"They expect us to defend."
He smiled slightly.
"So we won't."
Walker laughed.
"I had a feeling."
"We continue attacking."
Wenger pointed toward the tactical board.
"If we retreat…"
"…we invite belief."
"If we continue playing…"
"…we remove it."
Francesco nodded.
"We make them defend instead."
"Exactly."
Wenger folded his arms.
"The greatest psychological blow we can deliver…"
"…is refusing to fear them."
Silence followed.
Not uncertainty.
Conviction.
Wenger allowed the silence to linger for one final moment.
Not because anything more needed to be said.
Because every player already understood.
The manager looked around the room, meeting the eyes of each man in turn.
There was no anxiety.
No temptation to retreat into caution.
Only quiet conviction.
He gave a small nod.
"Enjoy it."
"And be yourselves."
Francesco rose first.
"Together."
The response came instinctively.
"Together."
The players climbed to their feet, fastening shin pads, adjusting shirts and taking one final drink before following the coaching staff back into the tunnel.
The cool Roman evening greeted them again as they emerged beneath the floodlights.
If anything, the atmosphere had grown louder during the interval.
The Curva Sud bounced continuously beneath a sea of red and yellow.
Massive flags rolled from side to side across the stand.
Smoke from fresh flares drifted above the upper tiers before disappearing into the night sky.
Every supporter inside the Stadio Olimpico understood the mathematics.
Roma still faced an almost impossible task.
That reality did nothing to reduce their belief.
The noise was relentless.
Across the opposite corner, Arsenal's travelling supporters answered with songs of their own.
Only a few thousand in number.
Yet every chant carried remarkable clarity.
Scarves lifted high.
Drums echoed back.
The players acknowledged them briefly before taking their positions.
Martin Tyler's voice settled comfortably over the television broadcast.
"The atmosphere certainly hasn't diminished."
Alan Smith smiled.
"And neither manager will want his players thinking about the aggregate score now."
"It's another forty-five minutes of football."
"The mentality will decide everything."
The referee glanced around the field.
A whistle pierced the Roman night.
The second half began.
Immediately, something unexpected unfolded.
Roma's players charged forward expecting Arsenal to retreat.
Instead, Arsenal met them almost twenty yards higher than before.
Francesco pressed Fazio before the defender could settle the ball.
Gnabry forced Kolarov backwards.
Alexis closed Florenzi aggressively.
Behind them, Kanté and Xhaka stepped confidently into midfield rather than dropping toward their own penalty area.
For a few seconds Roma hesitated.
This was not the response they had prepared for.
Walker noticed it instantly.
"They're surprised."
Francesco answered while chasing another passing lane.
"Keep them surprised."
The ball circulated crisply.
Čech calmly found Van Dijk.
Van Dijk carried possession forward before slipping it into Xhaka.
One touch.
Two touches.
Across to Robertson.
Back through Kanté.
Every pass carried purpose.
Rather than protecting the aggregate advantage, Arsenal dictated the rhythm exactly as Wenger had demanded.
Roma chased.
The spaces gradually appeared.
De Rossi shouted repeatedly for his teammates to stay organised.
Nainggolan waved his midfield forward again.
Eusebio Di Francesco stood almost permanently at the edge of his technical area.
"Press!"
"Don't stop!"
"Again!"
The pressure remained fierce.
But Arsenal looked completely at ease.
In the forty-eighth minute their bravery earned its reward.
Van Dijk intercepted an ambitious pass toward Džeko before immediately finding Xhaka.
The Swiss midfielder turned away from Nainggolan and released Kanté.
One simple pass reached Özil between the lines.
The German drifted effortlessly into space.
He lifted his head once.
Francesco darted across Fazio's shoulder, dragging Manolas with him.
That single movement opened a narrow corridor behind the defence.
It was all Özil needed.
With the outside of his boot, he threaded a wonderfully disguised pass through the gap.
Alexis accelerated onto it without breaking stride.
Alisson rushed from his goal.
The Chilean remained wonderfully composed.
His left-footed finish slid low across the goalkeeper and nestled inside the far corner.
For a heartbeat, the Stadio Olimpico fell silent.
Then the Arsenal supporters exploded.
Red scarves spun wildly in the away section.
Players sprinted toward Alexis as he slid on his knees across the immaculate turf.
Francesco reached him first.
"Beautiful finish!"
Alexis laughed.
"Beautiful pass."
He pointed immediately toward Özil.
"And his."
Özil simply smiled.
"I only passed it."
Walker arrived moments later.
"You two are impossible."
Martin Tyler's voice rose above the celebrations.
"Arsenal refuse to change who they are."
"They've attacked from the restart."
"They've taken the game to Roma."
"And Alexis Sánchez has punished them with a magnificent finish."
Alan Smith could only admire what he had witnessed.
"That tells you everything about Arsène Wenger's philosophy."
"So many teams would have defended a five-goal advantage."
"Not Arsenal."
"They've trusted their football."
"They've trusted each other."
"And they've been rewarded again."
The scoreboard now read:
Roma 1–2 Arsenal.
Aggregate: Roma 1–6 Arsenal.
Di Francesco clapped his hands repeatedly.
"There is still time!"
"Keep going!"
To Roma's immense credit, his players listened.
Heads never dropped.
De Rossi gathered the team together before the restart, speaking passionately.
The response was immediate.
Roma attacked with even greater urgency.
Kolarov advanced almost permanently into Arsenal's half.
Florenzi overlapped relentlessly.
Nainggolan surged forward whenever possession changed hands.
Džeko continued battling every aerial duel against Van Dijk and Koscielny.
The pressure mounted once more.
Čech punched away a dangerous corner.
Walker blocked a low cross from Ünder's side of the pitch after another rapid move.
Robertson recovered brilliantly to deny Schick inside the area.
The home supporters sensed another goal.
Their belief returned with every attack.
Eventually, in the sixty-second minute, persistence paid off.
Nainggolan collected possession nearly thirty yards from goal.
Instead of releasing Džeko, he drove forward himself.
Xhaka stepped across.
Nainggolan shifted the ball onto his stronger foot.
Kanté closed quickly.
Still the Belgian found a narrow shooting lane.
His powerful strike skimmed through a crowd of players before flying beyond Čech into the bottom corner.
The stadium erupted.
The Curva Sud bounced wildly.
Nainggolan clenched both fists before pointing toward the supporters.
Roma were level on the night.
2–2.
The aggregate score now stood at 6–2.
Martin Tyler acknowledged the moment.
"A splendid strike."
"Roma continue fighting."
Alan Smith nodded.
"They deserve enormous credit."
"They've never accepted the situation."
"But equally…"
"…watch Arsenal."
Indeed, there was no panic.
Francesco immediately gathered the nearest players.
"Same again."
"No changes."
Walker nodded.
"We've got this."
Van Dijk clapped once.
"Reset."
The restart reflected exactly those words.
Simple passes.
Controlled possession.
No unnecessary risks.
Roma celebrated their goal.
Arsenal quietly resumed playing football.
The contrast said everything about the maturity of Wenger's side.
Minutes continued slipping away.
The tempo remained high.
Both teams attacked whenever opportunities appeared.
In the sixty-eighth minute Wenger turned calmly toward his bench.
His decision had already been made.
Olivier Giroud removed his training top.
Santi Cazorla stood beside him.
Aaron Ramsey followed.
The fourth official raised the electronic board.
Number 7.
Alexis Sánchez.
Number 11.
Mesut Özil.
Number 9.
Francesco.
Warm applause spread around the stadium.
The Arsenal supporters rose immediately.
Even many Roma fans joined in appreciation.
Alexis jogged across first, embracing Giroud firmly.
"Go enjoy yourself."
Giroud grinned.
"I usually do."
Özil smiled warmly as Cazorla approached.
"Keep the ball."
The Spaniard nodded.
"As always."
Finally Francesco reached the touchline.
Ramsey waited with an outstretched hand.
Instead, Francesco pulled him into a brief embrace.
"Lead with your energy."
Ramsey smiled.
"I learned from the best."
Francesco squeezed his shoulder.
"Finish the job."
As he stepped across the line, the captain turned toward every corner of the stadium.
He applauded both sets of supporters before taking his seat beside Wenger.
The manager greeted him with a quiet smile.
"Excellent."
Francesco nodded.
"The lads will finish it."
"I know."
Almost simultaneously Di Francesco responded.
Lorenzo Pellegrini's evening ended first.
He was replaced by Cengiz Ünder.
Moments later Daniele De Rossi departed to a standing ovation from the Roma supporters.
Maxime Gonalons entered in his place.
Fresh legs.
Fresh energy.
One final attempt.
The contest remained wonderfully open.
Giroud immediately gave Arsenal another outlet.
His ability to hold possession allowed Ramsey and Cazorla to join attacks.
Ramsey's tireless running unsettled Roma's midfield.
Cazorla dictated the rhythm beautifully, escaping pressure with elegant turns that drew appreciative applause even from sections of the home crowd.
Roma continued searching.
Ünder's pace immediately tested Robertson.
Džeko forced another sharp save from Čech with a powerful header.
At the opposite end, Alisson reacted brilliantly to deny Giroud after an intelligent Ramsey cross.
The game flowed from one penalty area to the other.
Every challenge mattered.
Every interception earned applause.
Van Dijk produced another towering clearance.
Mustafi, warming up behind the goal, applauded instinctively.
Walker recovered thirty yards to prevent Ünder racing clear.
Robertson timed a perfectly judged tackle on Florenzi near the byline.
Kanté seemed to appear wherever danger threatened.
Francesco watched from the bench with quiet satisfaction.
"They're managing it perfectly."
Steve Bould nodded.
"They've never lost control."
In the seventy-seventh minute Roma made one final change.
Stephan El Shaarawy received warm applause as he left the field.
Young forward Mirko Antonucci sprinted on.
Di Francesco called every player toward him.
"Everything forward!"
"One last push!"
His arms urged them higher.
Across the technical area Wenger's instructions were far calmer.
"Stay organised."
"Distances."
"Keep talking."
"No rushing."
The final quarter of an hour demanded concentration more than brilliance.
Roma poured forward courageously.
Crosses continued arriving inside Arsenal's penalty area.
Van Dijk and Koscielny dominated aerially.
Walker tucked inside whenever required.
Robertson recovered loose balls near the edge of the area.
Čech commanded every corner with the authority built across two decades at the highest level.
Whenever Arsenal regained possession, Cazorla slowed the tempo with remarkable intelligence.
One graceful turn escaped two pressing midfielders.
Another disguised pass found Ramsey.
Giroud held the ball before laying it into Gnabry's path.
The German's low effort rolled narrowly wide.
Wenger applauded anyway.
"Good decision."
The minutes ticked away.
Eighty-three.
Eighty-six.
Eighty-nine.
The fourth official indicated three minutes of added time.
The Roma supporters sang louder than ever, refusing to abandon their team.
The Arsenal fans answered proudly from the opposite corner.
Both clubs recognised the commitment shown throughout the evening.
One final Roma attack saw Ünder whip a dangerous cross toward Džeko.
Čech punched clear.
Ramsey gathered the loose ball before calmly finding Cazorla.
The Spaniard shielded possession expertly near the corner flag.
Giroud arrived to help.
The seconds disappeared.
The referee checked his watch.
One long whistle echoed across the Stadio Olimpico.
Full time.
Roma 2.
Arsenal 2.
Aggregate:
Roma 2.
Arsenal 7.
For a moment, there was simply applause.
Not wild celebration.
Not emotional release.
Respect.
Arsenal's players embraced one another with satisfied smiles.
Another professional performance.
Another objective achieved.
Francesco stepped back onto the pitch immediately after the final whistle to congratulate his teammates.
Ramsey hugged him.
"Job done."
Francesco smiled.
"Very well done."
Nearby, Van Dijk embraced Džeko after another exhausting duel.
"Good battle."
"The best kind," Džeko replied.
Walker exchanged shirts with Florenzi.
Robertson shook hands warmly with Kolarov.
Čech spent several moments speaking with Alisson before wishing him luck for the remainder of the season.
Francesco found De Rossi near the centre circle.
The two captains shook hands firmly.
"You never stopped fighting," Francesco said.
De Rossi smiled tiredly.
"Neither did you."
"You deserve the final."
"Thank you."
"I hope you win it."
The respect between both teams felt entirely genuine.
Near the technical areas Wenger and Di Francesco embraced briefly before exchanging quiet words that disappeared beneath the stadium noise.
Then Arsenal turned together toward the travelling supporters.
Every player applauded above their heads.
The away section responded with another tremendous chorus of song.
Flags waved proudly.
Scarves remained aloft.
Martin Tyler's closing words carried the significance of the occasion.
"Arsenal are through."
"They return to the UEFA Champions League Final."
"A magnificent performance across both legs."
Alan Smith smiled as the Arsenal players continued applauding their supporters.
"They've shown maturity."
"They've shown consistency."
"But above all, they've stayed true to themselves."
"They never abandoned their attacking football."
"They respected Roma, yet never feared them."
"Across two semi-finals, they've demonstrated exactly why they're champions of England."
"And now…"
"…they stand just one match away from becoming champions of Europe."
As they saw many Arsenal supporters stayed long after the final whistle simply to savour another unforgettable European evening.
______________________________________________
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, 2016/2017 Champions League, and 2017/2018 Carabao Cup.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 55
Goal: 70
Assist: 6
MOTM: 7
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 4
Goal: 4
Assist: 1
MOTM: 2
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