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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
But because everything he had done up to this point had already led him here.
The moment didn't linger.
Not for long.
That wasn't how it worked here.
There was no extended pause to sit with speeches, no drawn-out reflection in the middle of the room. What had been said was already understood, already accepted and now everything shifted toward the next step.
Action.
Movement.
Preparation.
The energy in the space changed almost instantly.
Not louder.
Not chaotic.
Just directed.
Harry Kane straightened slightly, clapping his hands once.
"Alright, lads."
It wasn't loud, but it carried.
A signal.
Subtle, but clear.
Players began to move.
Not all at once, but in small clusters, naturally breaking off and heading toward the same place.
The dressing room.
Francesco adjusted the strap of his bag again, then fell into step with the group without needing to think about it. Kyle Walker walked beside him, still carrying that familiar energy.
"Back to work already," Walker muttered.
Francesco glanced at him.
"Always."
Walker smirked.
"Yeah, figured you'd say that."
Ahead of them, Jordan Henderson was already talking quietly with Gary Cahill, their voices low, focused. Raheem Sterling and Dele Alli followed just behind, exchanging a few quick words, relaxed but attentive.
Francesco didn't join any of the conversations.
He didn't need to.
He just moved with them.
Part of the group.
Exactly where he needed to be.
The corridor leading to the dressing room was quiet, the kind of quiet that carried purpose. Footsteps echoed lightly against the floor, boots and trainers hitting in steady rhythm. No one rushed. No one dragged.
Just forward.
The door opened.
And the space inside greeted them instantly.
Familiar.
Structured.
Clean.
Rows of lockers.
Kits already laid out.
Everything prepared.
Everything waiting.
Francesco stepped in, his eyes moving once across the room before settling on his spot.
No hesitation.
He walked over, setting his bag down beside the bench.
Around him, the room filled quickly.
Zippers.
Fabric shifting.
Boots being pulled out.
The quiet sounds of preparation.
Walker dropped his bag a little heavier than necessary.
"Right," he muttered, already starting to change.
Francesco shook his head faintly but didn't comment.
He unzipped his bag, reaching in and pulling out his training kit.
Same routine.
Same process.
Nothing different.
Shirt first.
Then shorts.
Socks.
Every movement efficient.
No wasted motion.
Across from him, Marcus Rashford was already halfway ready, tying his boots with that same calm focus he always carried.
"You good?" Rashford asked, glancing up briefly.
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
Rashford gave a small nod back.
No more needed.
Wayne Rooney sat a few lockers down, adjusting his socks, his presence steady, grounded.
"First session's always a bit sharper," Rooney said casually, not looking at anyone in particular.
Henderson responded without missing a beat.
"That's the point."
Rooney smirked faintly.
"Yeah."
Francesco listened.
Didn't speak.
Just absorbed it.
Because this environment had layers.
Experience.
Expectation.
And the balance between the two.
He finished lacing his boots, then leaned back slightly, checking everything once.
No mistakes.
No adjustments needed.
Ready.
He stood.
So did the others.
The shift happened again.
From preparation to action.
Gareth Southgate appeared briefly at the entrance, not stepping fully inside, but enough to catch the room's attention.
"Pitch in two."
That was it.
No extra words.
No explanation.
Just instruction.
Francesco grabbed his bottle, then moved with the group as they began heading out again.
The corridor felt shorter this time.
Because now there was movement behind it.
Energy.
Purpose.
They stepped out into the open air.
And the difference hit immediately.
Fresh.
Cool.
Wide.
The training pitch stretched out ahead of them.
Perfectly maintained.
Grass cut clean.
Lines sharp.
The kind of surface that demanded precision.
Francesco stepped onto it without hesitation.
Boots pressing lightly into the ground.
Feeling it.
Always feeling it first.
The group spread out naturally.
No instruction needed yet.
Just positioning.
Light movement.
Getting loose.
Walker jogged past him.
"Feels good," he said.
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
Because it did.
Different from club.
But still familiar.
Still football.
Still work.
Southgate stepped out onto the pitch shortly after, his staff spreading around him, cones already placed, balls lined up.
Everything ready.
He didn't waste time.
"Warm-up first."
Simple.
Clear.
The players moved immediately.
Jogging in a loose formation.
Francesco fell into rhythm quickly.
Step.
Step.
Breathing steady.
The sound of boots against grass.
The low murmur of movement.
No talking now.
Not much.
Just focus.
After a few laps, they transitioned.
Dynamic stretches.
Controlled movements.
Opening the body.
Preparing it.
Southgate watched.
Not rigidly.
But attentively.
Taking everything in.
Francesco moved through each motion with precision.
No shortcuts.
No rushing.
Every stretch measured.
Every movement intentional.
Because this was where it started.
Not the match.
Not the tactics.
This.
The foundation.
"Sharper," Southgate called out.
Not loud.
But enough.
The tempo lifted slightly.
Faster transitions.
Quicker feet.
More intensity.
Francesco adjusted instantly.
No hesitation.
No delay.
Because that was expected.
Because that was the level.
The drills shifted again.
Ball work.
Pairs forming quickly.
Francesco found himself opposite Harry Kane.
A brief glance.
A nod.
Then movement.
Short passes first.
Clean.
Controlled.
One touch.
Back.
Again.
Again.
The rhythm built quickly.
No wasted touches.
No unnecessary flair.
Just execution.
"Good," Kane muttered.
Francesco didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
They kept going.
The pace increased.
Two touches.
Then one.
Then movement added.
Angles.
Positioning.
Everything tightening.
Around them, the rest of the squad worked in similar patterns.
Sterling moving quickly on the ball.
Alli adjusting his body to create space.
Henderson organizing without needing to raise his voice.
Walker pushing the tempo with his natural pace.
The session built layer by layer.
Simple.
Then complex.
Southgate stepped in occasionally.
Small corrections.
"Body shape."
"Quicker release."
"Look before you receive."
Each instruction short.
Precise.
Francesco absorbed them all.
Adjusted without hesitation.
Because that's what separated levels.
Not hearing instructions.
Applying them instantly.
The drill shifted again.
Small-sided possession.
Tight spaces.
Limited touches.
Pressure.
Francesco stepped into it without thinking.
Ball at his feet.
Pressure closing.
One touch out.
Move.
Receive again.
Turn.
Release.
Everything quick.
Everything sharp.
"Good tempo," Southgate said from the side.
The intensity rose again.
Voices now.
Calling.
Demanding.
"Here!"
"Man on!"
"Switch!"
Francesco's movements stayed controlled.
Not rushed.
Even under pressure.
Because panic didn't belong here.
Only decisions.
Fast.
Clear.
Correct.
Walker intercepted once, grinning as he played it forward.
"Too slow!"
Francesco took it back seconds later.
"Not really."
Walker laughed.
"Alright."
The drill continued.
Sweat building.
Breathing heavier.
But controlled.
Always controlled.
Southgate watched the entire time.
Not interrupting unless needed.
Letting the session flow.
Letting the players express within structure.
Eventually, he raised a hand.
"Reset."
The players slowed.
Stepping back.
Catching breath.
Francesco placed his hands lightly on his hips, breathing steady, eyes still focused.
Not drifting.
Not switching off.
Because the session wasn't done.
Not yet.
Southgate stepped forward again.
"Final phase."
The tone shifted slightly.
More direct.
More match-oriented.
"Positioning."
Players adjusted.
Formation shaping.
Roles becoming clearer.
Francesco stepped into his space.
Not guessing.
Understanding.
Movement off the ball.
Timing.
Awareness.
Everything being tested now.
Southgate walked along the line, observing.
Then.
"Play."
And it started.
Not a full match.
But close enough.
Intensity real.
Decisions real.
Francesco moved instinctively.
Reading.
Reacting.
Positioning himself between lines.
Receiving under pressure.
Turning when possible.
Releasing when needed.
Every action tied to purpose.
No wasted motion.
No hesitation.
Because this wasn't about showing off.
It was about fitting in.
Functioning.
Contributing.
The ball came to him again.
Quick touch.
Shift.
Pass forward.
Movement continues.
Always moving.
Always adjusting.
The rhythm of the session carried on.
Building.
Flowing.
Until finally, Southgate raised his hand again.
"Enough."
And just like that, it stopped.
Not abruptly.
But cleanly.
Players slowed.
Breathing heavier now.
Sweat visible.
But no one collapsed.
No one dragged.
They stayed standing.
Present.
Southgate nodded once.
"Good start."
Simple.
Direct.
But it meant something.
Because he didn't say it unless it was true.
Francesco exhaled slowly.
Not relief.
Not exhaustion.
Just acknowledgment.
First session done.
First step taken.
He glanced briefly across the pitch.
At the players.
At the staff.
At the space again.
This was it.
Not the arrival.
Not the announcement.
This.
The work.
And as he stood there, breathing steady, body warm, mind clear as he didn't feel out of place.
The feeling didn't fade when the session ended.
It settled.
Deep.
Quiet.
The kind of feeling that didn't need words to define it.
Francesco stood there for a moment longer after Gareth Southgate called it, hands resting lightly on his hips, chest rising and falling steadily. Around him, the rest of the squad began to move again, some walking toward the sidelines, others exchanging short comments, small nods, quick acknowledgments of the work just done.
But nothing loud.
Nothing exaggerated.
Just understanding.
Because they all felt it.
A good start.
Not perfect.
Not finished.
But right.
Harry Kane jogged past him, slowing slightly as he came alongside.
"Sharp," Kane said.
Francesco glanced at him.
"Yeah."
Kane gave a small nod.
"Keep it."
Then he moved on.
Simple.
Direct.
Francesco didn't respond, but the meaning landed.
Keep it.
Not just the sharpness.
The focus.
The level.
Everything.
Kyle Walker came next, hands on his hips, still catching his breath.
"First one done," he said, grinning slightly.
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
Walker looked around the pitch.
"Feels right, though."
Francesco followed his gaze.
The grass.
The players.
The staff.
Everything in motion.
"Yeah," he repeated.
Because it did.
No adjustment period.
No hesitation.
Just fit.
They moved off the pitch gradually after that.
No rush.
Just a slow transition back toward the building.
Boots brushing against the grass, conversations picking up again in low tones.
Jordan Henderson was already talking with Eric Dier, their discussion more tactical now, more specific.
Raheem Sterling and Dele Alli walked side by side, relaxed again, but still focused.
Marcus Rashford stayed quiet, like Francesco, just present.
Francesco walked among them.
Not separate.
Not central.
Just there.
And that was enough.
The rest of the day moved with structure.
Recovery.
Light meetings.
Short tactical discussions.
Nothing overwhelming.
Nothing excessive.
Just building.
Layer by layer.
By the time evening came, the intensity had dropped again.
Dinner was calm.
Conversation easy.
No heavy talk.
No pressure.
Because the real work would come soon enough.
Francesco didn't stay up long.
Didn't scroll through his phone.
Didn't overthink anything.
He just rested.
Because that was part of it too.
Recovery wasn't just physical.
It was mental.
And when sleep came, it came quickly.
Clean.
Undisturbed.
The next morning carried a different energy.
Not louder.
But sharper.
More defined.
Francesco woke before his alarm again.
Of course he did.
His body already knew.
Match preparation had a rhythm.
And this was part of it.
Travel day.
He sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair, eyes adjusting to the light filtering through the curtains.
"Alright."
Same word.
Different meaning.
He moved through his routine without hesitation.
Quick shower.
Training gear.
Bag checked once more.
Nothing missing.
Nothing extra.
When he stepped out into the corridor, the atmosphere had already shifted.
More movement.
More voices.
Not chaotic.
But active.
Players were already up.
Already preparing.
Francesco made his way downstairs.
The dining area was alive, but controlled.
Harry Kane sat at one of the tables, eating quietly, focused.
Jordan Henderson was already mid-conversation with Gary Cahill, both calm but engaged.
Kyle Walker walked in just ahead of Francesco, already talking.
"Travel days always feel longer," Walker muttered.
Francesco glanced at him.
"They're not."
Walker smirked.
"Feels like it."
Francesco didn't argue.
He grabbed something light to eat.
Same approach as always.
Nothing heavy.
Nothing that slowed him down.
He sat down, eating without distraction.
No phone.
No unnecessary conversation.
Just fueling.
Around him, the squad moved in the same rhythm.
Everyone understood the day.
No one needed to say it.
After breakfast, the transition happened quickly.
Bags were collected.
Boots packed.
Staff moved efficiently, coordinating without noise.
Francesco picked up his bag again.
Same weight.
Same familiarity.
Different destination.
Outside, the air felt cooler.
Crisp.
The kind of morning that sharpened everything.
The team bus was already waiting.
Engine running softly.
Door open.
Ready.
Players began to gather.
One by one.
Marcus Rashford stepped on first.
Then Raheem Sterling.
Dele Alli followed, adjusting his jacket as he moved.
Francesco stepped forward without hesitation.
Onto the bus.
Inside, it was quiet.
Not silent.
But focused.
Seats filling up.
Bags placed overhead or beside them.
Francesco took a seat near the middle.
Window.
Of course.
Habit.
Walker dropped into the seat beside him.
"Good spot," he said.
Francesco shrugged.
"Always."
Walker leaned back, stretching slightly.
"Malta, yeah?"
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
Simple.
The bus began to move shortly after.
No announcement.
No delay.
Just forward.
The drive to Birmingham Airport was steady.
The roads were quieter than usual.
Early enough.
Clear enough.
Outside the window, the landscape passed by in smooth motion.
Trees.
Fields.
Open space.
Francesco watched it without really focusing on it.
Just letting the movement settle in.
Transition.
From preparation to execution.
Walker glanced over.
"You ever get used to this part?"
Francesco didn't look away from the window.
"Yeah."
Walker raised an eyebrow.
"Really?"
Francesco nodded once.
"It's just part of it."
Walker huffed a small laugh.
"Fair enough."
The rest of the bus stayed mostly quiet.
Some players had headphones in.
Others talked softly.
A few just sat still.
Everyone in their own space.
But still part of the same group.
The journey didn't feel long.
Because no one was waiting for it to end.
They were already where they needed to be mentally.
The bus pulled into the airport smoothly.
Security already prepared.
Staff waiting.
Everything organized.
The door opened.
Players stepped out one by one.
Francesco followed, bag over his shoulder.
The environment shifted instantly.
Airports always did that.
More people.
More movement.
More noise.
But it didn't break their focus.
They moved as a unit.
Check-in handled quickly.
Security cleared without delay.
No unnecessary stops.
No distractions.
Francesco didn't look around much.
Didn't engage with the attention.
Because there was always some.
Phones.
Whispers.
Recognition.
But it stayed at the edges.
Not interfering.
Not pulling him away.
They reached the gate.
Boarding wasn't far off.
Players took seats around the waiting area.
Some standing.
Some sitting.
Francesco remained on his feet for a moment, then leaned lightly against a wall.
Still.
Present.
Walker checked his phone briefly.
"Short flight," he said.
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
Then boarding.
Called cleanly.
No delay.
They moved again.
Onto the plane.
Same structure.
Same rhythm.
Francesco took his seat by the window again.
Bag tucked away.
Seatbelt fastened.
He leaned back slightly, eyes forward.
No music.
No distraction.
Just the moment.
The plane began to move.
Taxiing slowly.
Then faster.
Then lifting.
The ground dropped away.
England shrinking beneath them.
The transition complete.
The flight passed quietly.
Most of the squad rested.
Some talked briefly.
Others just sat in silence.
Francesco closed his eyes for a while.
Not sleeping.
Just conserving.
Because energy mattered.
Even in moments like this.
When the plane began its descent, the light outside had changed.
Warmer.
Brighter.
Different.
Malta.
The Mediterranean visible beneath them.
Blue stretching out endlessly.
The kind of view that felt almost unreal for a second.
Francesco opened his eyes fully now.
Watched it.
Not long.
Just enough.
Then sat back again.
Ready.
The plane touched down smoothly.
No turbulence.
No disruption.
Just arrival.
They stepped off shortly after.
The air hit immediately.
Warmer.
Drier.
Different from England.
Francesco noticed it instantly.
Didn't comment.
Just adjusted.
They moved through the airport efficiently again.
No delays.
No confusion.
Transport already waiting.
Another bus.
Another short journey.
Toward the hotel.
Toward preparation.
Toward the match.
Francesco stepped on.
Took his seat.
Looked out the window again.
But this time, the view was new.
Different roads.
Different buildings.
Different light.
The bus rolled on without interruption.
No sudden stops.
No unnecessary turns.
Just a steady glide through streets that felt slower, warmer, quieter than what they'd left behind.
Francesco kept his eyes on the window, watching the unfamiliar rhythm of Malta unfold in front of him.
The buildings were different.
Closer together.
Lighter in color.
Stone and sun-washed walls that seemed to reflect the afternoon light rather than absorb it.
Palm trees appeared in between roads, and the sky stretched wider than it had back in England.
There was space here.
Not just physically.
Something else.
A different pace.
But inside the bus, nothing changed.
Focus stayed.
Silence stayed.
Preparation stayed.
Kyle Walker shifted slightly in his seat beside him, glancing out the window.
"Feels hot already," he muttered.
Francesco nodded once.
"Yeah."
Walker leaned back again.
"Going to be one of those games."
Francesco didn't respond immediately.
"Good."
Walker looked at him, smirking faintly.
"You're always like that, yeah?"
Francesco shrugged.
"Just play."
Walker shook his head, half amused, half impressed.
"Fair enough."
Up ahead, Harry Kane sat quietly, focused even now, his posture relaxed but his eyes attentive.
Jordan Henderson was speaking softly with Gary Cahill again, their conversation low, but clearly centered on the match ahead.
Raheem Sterling had his headphones in now, head slightly tilted back, conserving energy in his own way.
Marcus Rashford sat still, gaze forward, quiet but present.
No one needed to say it.
They were all already there.
Mentally.
The bus turned once more.
Then slowed.
The hotel came into view.
Modern.
Clean.
Set slightly back from the road.
Not extravagant.
Not excessive.
Just right.
Built for purpose.
The bus rolled to a stop.
Engine idling for a second before cutting off.
Silence.
Then movement.
Players stood up gradually, reaching for bags, adjusting straps, stepping into motion without being told.
Francesco stood with them, grabbing his bag from above, slinging it over his shoulder in one smooth motion.
"Alright," Walker muttered, stretching slightly as he stepped into the aisle.
Francesco followed behind him.
Off the bus.
Onto the pavement.
The heat hit a little stronger now.
Not overwhelming.
But present.
The kind that sat on your skin instead of biting at it.
Francesco adjusted instantly.
No reaction.
Just acceptance.
They moved toward the entrance together.
Staff already waiting.
Doors opening.
Everything smooth.
Inside, the air shifted again.
Cooler.
Controlled.
The lobby was spacious.
Clean lines.
Neutral tones.
A quiet kind of luxury that didn't need to show itself off.
Francesco stepped in, eyes scanning briefly.
Reception ahead.
Seating areas to the side.
Staff already coordinating.
No delays.
No confusion.
The squad gathered loosely near the center.
Bags placed down.
Voices low.
No one spreading out too far.
Still moving as one.
Gareth Southgate stepped forward shortly after, his presence immediately settling the space again.
Not loud.
Not commanding in an obvious way.
But clear.
Always clear.
"Alright, lads."
The room quieted naturally.
Players turned slightly.
Attention focused.
Southgate looked across the group once, taking in everyone, making sure they were all there.
Then he spoke.
"Get settled first."
Simple.
Direct.
"Rooms are ready."
A small pause.
"Recovery tonight."
Another nod.
Expected.
Standard.
But then he added something more specific.
"Tomorrow morning."
The room held that quiet again.
Focused.
Listening.
"I want everyone down in the lobby at ten."
Clear.
No confusion.
"No delays."
His eyes moved across the group.
"We head out together."
Another short pause.
Then.
"Training at Floriana FC's ground."
That landed.
Different pitch.
Different environment.
But still preparation.
Still work.
Southgate continued.
"Light session."
Measured.
"Get used to the conditions."
Another glance.
"We keep it sharp."
Always.
He nodded once.
"That's it."
No speech extended longer than necessary.
No overcomplication.
Just structure.
Expectation.
And trust.
He stepped back slightly, speaking quietly with one of his assistants as the group began to move again.
Walker exhaled.
"Ten, yeah?"
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
Walker picked up his bag again.
"Good. Not too early."
Francesco didn't comment.
Because for him, it didn't matter.
Early.
Late.
It was all the same.
Preparation.
They moved toward the reception desk in small groups, collecting room keys, exchanging short words with staff, everything efficient, everything smooth.
Francesco stepped forward when it was his turn, gave his name, received his key.
No extra conversation.
No delay.
He turned back toward the group.
Harry Kane stood nearby, key already in hand.
"You settling in now?" Kane asked.
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
Kane gave a small nod back.
"Dinner later."
Not a question.
Francesco understood.
"Yeah."
Kane moved off after that.
Already thinking ahead.
Always.
Francesco adjusted his grip on the bag, then made his way toward the elevators with a few of the others.
Marcus Rashford stepped in beside him.
"Heat's different," Rashford said quietly.
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
Rashford glanced at him.
"Ball moves quicker."
Francesco met his gaze briefly.
"Good."
Rashford gave a small smile.
"Yeah."
The elevator doors opened.
They stepped in.
Pressed their floors.
No one spoke after that.
Just the soft hum of movement upward.
The doors opened again.
Francesco stepped out.
Walked down the corridor.
Quiet.
Carpeted.
Soft footsteps.
He reached his room.
Opened the door.
Stepped inside.
Same structure as most team hotels.
Bed.
Desk.
Window.
Everything clean.
Everything ready.
He set his bag down near the bed.
Unzipped it slightly.
Not unpacking fully.
Just enough.
Boots placed carefully to the side.
Clothes arranged.
Nothing messy.
Nothing rushed.
He moved toward the window.
Pulled the curtain slightly.
Looked out.
The view stretched across the city.
Low buildings.
Open sky.
The sun still hanging above everything.
Different.
But calm.
He stood there for a moment.
Just looking.
Letting it settle.
New place.
Same purpose.
Then he stepped back.
Closed the curtain halfway.
Not fully.
Just enough.
He sat down on the edge of the bed.
Hands resting loosely together.
No phone.
No distraction.
Just… still.
The journey was done.
The arrival complete.
Tomorrow would start the real preparation.
Ten AM.
Lobby.
Floriana FC training ground.
Everything already set.
Francesco exhaled slowly.
Not tired.
Not restless.
Just ready.
He leaned back slightly, eyes drifting for a moment before closing briefly.
Not sleeping.
Just resting.
Because he knew—
every small moment like this mattered.
Every pause.
Every breath.
Every reset.
It all built toward what came next.
And as the light outside slowly shifted toward evening, the room stayed quiet.
______________________________________________
Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 18 (2016)
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: 11
Goal: 14
Assist: 1
MOTM: 1
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 0
Goal: 0
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