The King Of Arsenal

If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!

Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12

___________________________

As Francesco walked off the pitch, he felt a deep sense of satisfaction. He had scored, contributed in defense, and played a key role in the team's success. This was the kind of performance that made champions. And Arsenal were proving they could be just that.

The celebrations in the locker room were nothing short of electric. The players, still buzzing from their dominant 3-0 victory, were laughing, cheering, and even singing as the music blasted through the speakers. Water bottles were being sprayed, high-fives were exchanged, and the energy in the room was contagious.

Francesco sat on the bench, taking a deep breath as he untied his boots. His legs were still burning from the relentless second half, but the pain was masked by the sheer satisfaction of victory. He had delivered when it mattered, and the feeling was euphoric.

Across the room, Rosický was grinning, still being congratulated for his late goal. Oxlade-Chamberlain and Bellerín were dancing near the showers, their youthful energy seemingly endless. Even the usually reserved Özil had a relaxed smile on his face, leaning back against his locker as he enjoyed the atmosphere.

Then, amidst all the noise, the door swung open.

Arsène Wenger stepped in, his presence commanding immediate attention. The room didn't go completely silent, but the volume dropped significantly as the players turned toward their manager.

"Francesco, Santi," Wenger called out, his voice firm but calm. "Shower quickly and change into your training kits. You're coming with me to the post-match press conference."

Francesco barely had time to process the words before Cazorla groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes with an exaggerated sigh. "Ah, boss, can't we celebrate for five more minutes?"

A small chuckle rippled through the locker room, but Wenger remained unfazed. "You can celebrate after. Now, hurry up."

Cazorla sighed again, shaking his head as he stood up. "Fine, fine. Let's go, Francesco."

Francesco smirked slightly as he stood, already knowing this was coming. This would be the second time he faced the media with his new persona—the arrogant, self-assured version of himself. He had already made an impression before, but this time, he would make sure they truly understood who he was.

He quickly headed to the showers, letting the hot water wash away the sweat and exhaustion from the match. As he stood there, he mentally prepared himself. The press would ask questions about his goal, his performance, Arsenal's dominance—this was his chance to cement himself as a player who didn't just talk but delivered when it mattered.

After changing into his training kit, he met Cazorla outside the locker room, where Wenger was already waiting. Together, they walked down the hallway, the sounds of celebration fading behind them.

As they approached the media room, Francesco could already hear the murmurs of journalists preparing their questions. Cameras were being adjusted, microphones tested—it was a completely different kind of battlefield, one that required composure and wit instead of speed and skill.

Wenger walked in first, followed by Francesco and Cazorla, who took their seats beside him. The room immediately lit up with flashes as photographers snapped pictures. Francesco leaned back slightly in his chair, keeping his expression cool and unreadable.

Wenger started off by addressing the game itself, giving credit to the team's performance while also acknowledging Everton's efforts. He spoke about the tactical adjustments, the substitutions, and how Arsenal had grown into the game after a difficult start.

Then, the attention shifted.

A journalist from Sky Sports raised his hand. "Francesco, another goal today, another strong performance. You seem to thrive in these big moments. How would you describe your role in this team?"

Francesco didn't hesitate. He leaned forward slightly, his expression turning into a confident smirk. "Simple. I'm here to win. I'm here to score, to create, to make sure Arsenal dominates. I've said it before—I don't play to be average, I play to be the best. And when I step on the pitch, I expect to deliver. Today was just another example of that."

A few murmurs spread through the room at his directness. Cazorla nudged him slightly under the table, an amused grin on his face.

Another journalist jumped in. "You've been quite vocal about your confidence since arriving at Arsenal. Some might say you're arrogant. How do you respond to that?"

Francesco chuckled, shaking his head. "Arrogance without skill is just empty talk. But if you have the ability to back it up, then it's called confidence. I back up everything I say on the pitch. If people call that arrogance, then so be it. But I don't see anyone complaining when I'm scoring goals and helping this team win."

Wenger remained composed beside him, but Francesco could tell the manager was keeping a close eye on his words. He wasn't against players having personality, but he also didn't want them causing unnecessary controversy.

A journalist from BBC Sport spoke up next. "Your chemistry with Özil and Giroud seems to be improving. How important are those partnerships for you?"

Francesco nodded. "Massively important. Football isn't an individual sport. Özil is a magician with the ball—his vision is unreal. Giroud is a target man who makes it easy to play off of. When we combine well, we're dangerous. But chemistry isn't just about training—it's about understanding each other's instincts. And I think we're getting better at that every game."

More questions followed—some about the team's chances for the title, others about upcoming fixtures. Francesco remained composed throughout, never shying away from showing his confidence.

Then, a final question came.

"Francesco, you're still young, but you already carry yourself like a leader. Do you see yourself as a future captain for Arsenal?"

He paused for a moment, considering his words carefully. Then, with a small smirk, he replied, "I don't need an armband to lead. Leadership is about mentality, not just a title. If I can inspire my teammates through my performances, if I can push them to be better, then I'm already leading in my own way. But if the captaincy comes in the future? Who knows. All I know is, I'm here to make history with this club."

The room buzzed with reactions. Some journalists nodded in approval, others scribbled furiously on their notepads. Francesco knew he had just given them plenty of headlines to work with.

Wenger took that as the perfect moment to wrap things up. "That will be all for today. Thank you."

With that, the press conference ended. Francesco stood up, exchanging a glance with Cazorla, who was still grinning. "You really enjoy stirring things up, don't you?" the Spaniard teased as they walked out.

Francesco smirked. "I just speak the truth."

As they headed back toward the locker room, the echoes of their victory still lingering in the air, Francesco knew one thing for certain—he wasn't just here to be another player. He was here to make a legacy. And this was only the beginning.

As Francesco and Cazorla walked back toward the locker room, the energy in the stadium was still electric. The fans were beginning to filter out, their cheers lingering in the halls as they celebrated another dominant Arsenal victory. The echoes of "We love you Arsenal, we do!" rang out faintly from the stands, a sound that sent a small rush of satisfaction through Francesco.

But as he pushed open the door to the locker room, he was immediately met with loud whistles and laughter.

"Look who's back! The new king of press conferences!" Oxlade-Chamberlain called out, grinning as he pointed at the TV screen mounted on the wall. It was still replaying parts of the interview, with Francesco's words about leadership and arrogance flashing across the subtitles.

"Oi, oi! 'Arrogance without skill is just empty talk,' yeah?" Theo Walcott mimicked with a dramatic smirk, throwing an arm around Francesco's shoulder. "Man's really out here writing quotes for the history books!"

The entire room burst into laughter. Giroud was clapping exaggeratedly, while Bellerín pretended to wipe away fake tears of admiration.

"Mate, that was some world-class confidence right there," Rosický added, shaking his head with an amused chuckle. "Wenger looked like he was two seconds away from pulling you off the stage."

Francesco smirked, unbothered by the teasing. He knew exactly what he had done in that press conference, and he had done it on purpose. He wanted the media to talk. He wanted them to debate, to write headlines about him—not just as a promising talent, but as a player with the personality to match his skills.

He plopped down on the bench, stretching out his legs as he took off his training kit top. "I just say it how it is," he said nonchalantly, looking around at his teammates. "You lot act like I lied about anything."

Cazorla, still laughing, sat down beside him and shook his head. "It's not what you said, it's the way you said it. Man was sitting there like he owned the place."

Francesco grinned. "Well, didn't we own that pitch today?"

That earned a few shouts of approval. "Fair play, fair play," Oxlade-Chamberlain admitted. "Still, I swear if you keep this up, you'll have pundits talking about you every week."

"Good," Francesco said with a smirk. "Let them talk."

Across the room, Özil, who had been quietly watching with a knowing smile, finally spoke. "Just make sure you keep scoring and assisting, or else they'll turn on you faster than you can say 'press conference.'"

Francesco met his gaze and nodded. He respected Özil's words because he knew they came from experience. The media could build you up just as quickly as they could tear you down. But that didn't worry him—because he had no plans of slowing down.

Wenger walked in just then, causing the volume to lower slightly. The manager looked around at his players, nodding in approval at their camaraderie before addressing them.

"Good performance today, everyone," he said. "You responded well to pressure, took control when it mattered, and finished the game strong. This is the kind of mentality we need to maintain if we want to stay at the top."

The players nodded, their competitive spirits still high.

"But," Wenger continued, his gaze flickering briefly to Francesco, "let's also make sure our words off the pitch match our performances on it."

A few stifled chuckles rippled through the room. Francesco simply smirked, knowing full well that Wenger was subtly addressing him.

"We have a few days before our next match," Wenger went on. "Rest well, recover, and be ready for training. Enjoy the win, but stay focused."

With that, he gave them a small nod and exited the room, leaving the players to continue their celebrations.

Francesco leaned back against the locker, exhaling deeply. The adrenaline from the match was starting to fade, replaced by the comfortable exhaustion that came after a big win.

"Man's already got the gaffer keeping an eye on him," Bellerín teased, nudging him with his elbow.

Francesco chuckled. "Let him watch. I'll just keep proving myself on the pitch."

The banter continued, but eventually, the players began to wind down. Some started heading out, while others took their time relaxing in the locker room.

As the players finished up in the locker room, the mood remained light and celebratory. Some were still replaying moments from the match on their phones, analyzing their own performances, while others were cracking jokes and soaking in the win. The energy was high, but the exhaustion was starting to settle in, a reminder of just how much effort they had put into the 90 minutes.

"Alright, lads! Let's get moving!" Per Mertesacker's voice rang through the room, prompting the team to gather their belongings and make their way out.

The players filtered out of the dressing room in groups, heading toward the team bus. As Francesco stepped outside, the cool London night air hit his face, refreshing him after the intense game and the heat of the locker room. He slung his bag over his shoulder and walked with the others toward the bus, listening as Walcott and Oxlade-Chamberlain debated over who had the best dribble of the match.

"Mate, I had that Everton full-back spinning like a top," Ox boasted.

"Spinning? Bruv, he tackled you into next week," Walcott shot back, grinning.

Laughter erupted again as they climbed onto the bus, players settling into their usual spots. Francesco made his way toward one of the empty seats near the front, only to hear Wenger's voice call out behind him.

"Francesco, sit here."

He turned to see Wenger gesturing to the seat beside him. Raising an eyebrow, he shrugged and took the spot next to his manager. The engine of the bus roared to life as the vehicle slowly pulled away from the stadium, beginning the journey back to the Arsenal Training Center.

The atmosphere in the bus was a mix of calm and quiet conversations. Some players put on their headphones, lost in music or post-match analysis. Others, like Cazorla and Giroud, were still chatting and joking around, their energy seemingly endless.

But Francesco couldn't help but notice Wenger's gaze lingering on him. It wasn't an intense glare, nor was it disapproving—it was just… observing. Calculating.

Finally, he turned slightly and met his manager's eyes. "What is it, coach?"

Wenger didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked forward for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. Then, in his usual composed manner, he spoke.

"I liked what you showed in the press conference."

Francesco blinked, slightly surprised. "You did?"

Wenger nodded. "Confidence, charisma, the ability to handle the pressure of the media—you carried yourself well."

A small smirk played at Francesco's lips. "Thanks, coach. I just said what I felt."

Wenger gave a slight nod but then turned to face him more directly, his expression sharpening slightly. "That's good, Francesco. But let me make one thing clear," he continued. "If you ever say something you cannot back up, if you let your words become bigger than your performances, I will pull you from the next few press conferences."

Francesco tensed slightly. He hadn't expected that.

"And," Wenger added, "if it happens more than once, I will start you from the bench."

Francesco sat up straighter. He could feel the weight behind Wenger's words—not as a threat, but as a warning. The Frenchman wasn't against players having a personality. In fact, he encouraged it. But he valued discipline and consistency more than anything.

"You see," Wenger continued, his voice calm but firm, "confidence without results is arrogance. And arrogance without discipline leads to failure. I don't want that for you."

Francesco stayed quiet for a moment, letting the words sink in. He understood exactly what Wenger was saying. He was walking a fine line—being outspoken was part of his personality, but in football, words meant nothing if they weren't backed up by performances.

He finally nodded. "I get it, coach. I won't say anything I can't back up."

Wenger studied him for a moment, then gave a small approving nod. "Good."

The conversation ended there, but the message lingered in Francesco's mind.

The rest of the ride back was quiet, with most players resting their heads against the seats, the exhaustion catching up to them. Francesco stared out the window, watching the London streets pass by, thinking about the road ahead.

The press conference had given him attention. His words had made headlines. But none of it mattered if he didn't keep proving himself.

Wenger's warning wasn't a threat—it was a challenge.

And Francesco had no intention of backing down.

As the bus rolled into the Arsenal Training Center, Francesco exhaled and stretched. This was just the beginning. The real challenge was yet to come.

________________________________________________

Name : Francesco Lee

Age : 16 (2014)

Birthplace : London, England

Football Club : Arsenal First Team

Championship History : None

Match Played: 17

Goal: 22

Assist: 11

MOTM: 7