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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
Francesco took a slow breath, because tomorrow the serious work began.
The following morning began before most of the squad had fully recovered from the journey, but there was very little sympathy waiting for them.
At 8:00 a.m., the corridors of St George's Park were already alive.
Doors opened and closed.
Staff members moved between rooms carrying folders and tablets.
Players wandered toward breakfast looking half-awake, some still rubbing their eyes, others already joking loudly enough to wake anyone who had somehow managed to sleep through the alarms.
Francesco arrived with Walker.
Walker looked at him.
"You sleep?"
"Barely."
"Same."
"You were snoring."
Walker stopped.
"I was not."
"You were."
"Lies."
Francesco laughed.
"You're lucky we're teammates now."
Walker grinned.
"Exactly. Remember that."
They entered the dining area together.
Harry Kane was already there, eating breakfast while Henderson sat opposite him with a coffee.
Kane looked up.
"Morning, captain."
Francesco shook his head.
"Don't start."
Henderson smiled.
"Too late."
Rooney walked past carrying a plate.
"Enjoy it. You'll hear that word all summer."
Francesco sighed.
"Brilliant."
Rooney laughed.
"Get used to it."
The joking continued for another few minutes, but once the players finished breakfast, the mood began to change.
The first training session was waiting.
And everyone knew that Southgate had not brought them to St George's Park to enjoy a holiday.
As the training pitch was still damp when the players walked out.
The morning air was cool.
White training mannequins had already been arranged across the grass.
Cones marked several zones.
Portable goals stood at either end.
GPS equipment had been prepared.
The coaching staff were already waiting.
Southgate stood beside his assistants, watching the players emerge.
He waited until everyone had gathered.
"Morning."
"Morning, boss."
"Hopefully everyone slept well."
A few players exchanged amused looks.
Southgate smiled.
"Good. Because we're going to work."
A groan came from somewhere behind Maguire.
Southgate looked toward the sound.
"I'm glad you're enthusiastic."
The players laughed.
Then the warm-up began.
Running.
Dynamic stretches.
Short acceleration drills.
Mobility exercises.
Changes of direction.
The coaching staff moved among them, observing every movement.
There was no rush.
Everything had a purpose.
When the players finished warming up, the squad separated into groups.
Defenders moved toward one pitch.
Midfielders gathered in another area.
The attackers began working on combinations.
Francesco stood between the attacking group and midfielders for several minutes, listening as the coaches explained the day's objectives.
Southgate eventually called everyone together.
"Structure first."
He pointed toward the pitch.
"We are not interested in running around simply because we can."
The players listened.
"We need to know where everyone is."
He moved a marker.
"If the ball is here, where are we?"
Another marker.
"If we lose it here, what happens?"
He looked around.
"The answer cannot depend on one player making something spectacular."
Francesco nodded.
Southgate continued.
"We want controlled football. We want to attack. Of course we do. But attacking without structure gives the opponent opportunities."
He looked toward the defenders.
"Defensive stability."
Then toward the midfield.
"Protection."
Then toward the attackers.
"Movement."
He brought his hands closer together.
"Connection."
That became the theme of the session.
Connection.
Then the first tactical exercise involved a back four.
Walker and Rose occupied the full-back positions.
Stones and Maguire formed the centre-back pairing.
Henderson and Dier worked as the double pivot.
Francesco moved between the lines.
Kane operated ahead of him.
Sterling and Rashford began from wider positions.
The ball was circulated slowly.
Southgate watched.
"Hold."
Everyone stopped.
He walked toward the midfield.
"Jordan, you're too high."
Henderson nodded.
Southgate pointed toward Dier.
"And Eric is too isolated."
He moved them both.
"This is the distance I want."
The players reset.
"Again."
The ball moved.
Francesco dropped toward Henderson.
Kane came short.
Sterling moved inside.
Rose stayed deeper.
Walker resisted the temptation to advance.
The attack eventually accelerated.
Francesco received between the lines.
One touch.
Turn.
Pass toward Kane.
Kane returned it immediately.
Francesco released Sterling into space.
The movement worked.
Southgate allowed the play to finish.
Then he raised his hand.
"Better."
The players reset.
Again.
This time the coaching staff stopped the exercise after twenty seconds.
"Too stretched."
One assistant pointed toward the right side.
"Trent, you're five yards too high."
Alexander-Arnold nodded.
"Got it."
"Don't just understand it. Feel it."
The drill restarted.
This happened repeatedly.
Move.
Stop.
Correct.
Restart.
The players were learning that the smallest positional error could affect everyone around them.
Francesco found himself enjoying it.
It was demanding.
But it made sense.
Southgate wasn't asking them to dominate every second.
He wanted them to understand the game.
When to press.
When to drop.
When to accelerate.
When to slow everything down.
When to protect the centre.
When to attack the space outside.
When to keep possession simply because there was no reason to force the next pass.
At one point Francesco received the ball and immediately tried to turn.
"Francesco."
He stopped.
Southgate pointed toward the space behind him.
"What's there?"
Francesco looked.
Nothing.
"Nothing."
"Exactly."
Southgate nodded.
"So don't force it."
Francesco passed backward.
"Good."
That small moment stayed with him.
At Arsenal, he had become accustomed to creating something from almost nothing.
For England, he was learning that sometimes leadership meant refusing the spectacular option.
Later, the coaches changed the shape.
Back three.
Stones moved centrally.
Maguire shifted left.
Walker moved toward the right side.
Rose and Trippier became wing-backs.
Henderson and Dier remained together.
Francesco watched as the entire structure changed.
The distances were different.
The responsibilities were different.
Southgate walked among them.
"When we defend, we become compact."
He pointed toward the wing-backs.
"You are not wingers."
Then toward Francesco.
"And you are not a midfielder."
Francesco smiled slightly.
Southgate continued.
"You occupy the space between their lines. But if we lose the ball, you must understand what happens behind you."
Francesco nodded.
"I've got it."
"Good."
The exercise resumed.
The opposition group simulated a central attack.
England shifted.
Three defenders narrowed.
The double pivot dropped.
The wing-backs came inward.
Francesco moved toward the ball without committing.
He waited.
The passing lane opened.
He pressed.
The simulated opponent played backward.
England stepped forward together.
Southgate immediately shouted.
"That's it!"
The entire unit moved as one.
Not fast.
Not frantically.
Together.
That was what Southgate wanted.
The days began to blur together.
Morning sessions.
Lunch.
Video analysis.
Afternoon tactical work.
Recovery.
Team meetings.
Dinner.
Sleep.
Then repeat.
The intensity increased gradually.
One afternoon the players spent nearly an hour analysing Belgium.
The screen showed movement patterns, passing structures, attacking rotations and defensive transitions.
Southgate paused the footage repeatedly.
"Look at this."
A Belgian midfielder moved into space.
"Who picks him up?"
The room went quiet.
Henderson answered.
"Depends on where the ball is."
Southgate nodded.
"Exactly."
He rewound.
Again.
Then again.
Francesco watched carefully.
Belgium weren't simply a collection of talented individuals.
They were organised.
Dangerous.
Patient.
And capable of punishing even a small mistake.
Southgate made that clear.
"We don't need to fear them."
He looked around.
"But we need to respect them."
Nobody disagreed.
The next day, Tunisia became the focus.
Then Panama.
The staff refused to allow anyone to dismiss either opponent.
Every opponent had weaknesses.
Every opponent had strengths.
Every opponent required preparation.
The leadership group began naturally taking shape.
Francesco never tried to dominate conversations.
That wasn't his personality.
Instead, he listened.
He spoke when something needed saying.
He encouraged players when mistakes happened.
He made a point of speaking to the younger members of the squad.
Alexander-Arnold, in particular, sometimes stayed behind after tactical drills to ask questions.
One evening, Trent approached him.
"Do you think I'm supposed to go higher here?"
Francesco looked at the diagram on the tablet.
"Only if Kyle drops."
Trent nodded.
"And if he doesn't?"
"Then stay."
Trent smiled.
"Simple."
"Simple isn't easy."
Trent laughed.
"Fair."
Francesco had learned that during his Arsenal years.
Sometimes the most complicated thing in football was doing the simple thing at exactly the right moment.
Rooney noticed the way Francesco handled the squad.
One evening, he sat beside him in the lounge.
"You're doing all right."
Francesco looked over.
"At what?"
"This."
Rooney gestured toward the room.
"Being captain."
Francesco shrugged.
"I don't really feel like I'm doing anything."
"That's probably why you're doing it well."
Francesco smiled.
Rooney continued.
"Don't try to be the loudest person in the room."
"I wasn't planning to."
"Good."
Rooney leaned back.
"You've got Kane. Henderson. Me. There are plenty of voices."
Francesco nodded.
"And we all want the same thing."
"Exactly."
There were moments when club rivalries inevitably surfaced.
One afternoon, after a particularly physical training game, a challenge between two players resulted in a heated exchange.
"That's a foul!"
"Never!"
"You've been playing for Liverpool too long."
"And you've been playing for United too long."
The players around them laughed.
Francesco shook his head.
"Save it."
The two looked at him.
He smiled.
"You can hate each other when we go back to the Premier League."
Everyone laughed.
"But here?"
He pointed toward the England badge on his shirt.
"We're on the same side."
Henderson immediately nodded.
"Exactly."
Rooney added from behind them.
"Leave the club nonsense outside."
Kane smiled.
"Unless we're arguing about who's buying dinner."
That started another round of laughter.
The moment passed.
And that was exactly what Francesco wanted.
The rivalries could exist.
They didn't need to pretend they didn't.
Arsenal against Tottenham.
United against City.
Liverpool against everyone.
Chelsea against Arsenal.
Those battles were part of football.
But not here.
Here, there was one shirt.
One badge.
One responsibility.
England.
Francesco had seen what unity could accomplish before.
Euro 2016 had taught the players that trust could become a weapon.
Now he wanted that same culture inside this squad.
Not forced.
Not artificial.
Natural.
Then the coaching staff noticed.
Southgate certainly did.
During one afternoon session, he stood several yards away while the players prepared for another tactical exercise.
Henderson was explaining positioning to one group.
Kane was talking with Sterling.
Rooney was helping a younger player understand a movement.
Francesco was speaking with Alexander-Arnold and Rashford.
Nobody was trying to prove they were more important than anyone else.
Southgate watched quietly.
One of his assistants approached.
"They're starting to understand it."
Southgate nodded.
"More importantly, they're starting to trust each other."
The assistant smiled.
"That could be our biggest strength."
Southgate looked back toward the pitch.
"It might be."
The physical work became harder as the days passed.
Sprint repetitions.
Repeated acceleration.
Strength sessions.
Conditioning.
Recovery pools.
Stretching.
Cold-water immersion.
Physiotherapy.
Players emerged from the gym complaining about their legs.
One afternoon, Walker dropped into a chair beside Francesco.
"I can't feel my calves."
Francesco laughed.
"You're supposed to have calves."
"Not anymore."
Kane walked past.
"You'll be fine."
Walker looked offended.
"Easy for you to say."
Kane grinned.
"I score goals. You run."
Francesco burst out laughing.
Walker pointed at him.
"Don't encourage him."
The fatigue helped.
It made the squad feel human.
There were difficult sessions, but there were also jokes afterward.
Players shared food.
Talked about families.
Played cards.
Watched television.
Called home.
The evenings became almost as important as the training.
That was where friendships grew.
One evening, Francesco stepped outside after dinner.
The training pitches were empty.
The floodlights cast long shadows across the grass.
He stood quietly for a moment.
A week earlier, he'd been standing on an open-top bus with four trophies surrounding him.
Now he was standing in England training gear, staring at an empty pitch.
He heard footsteps behind him.
Henderson.
"Couldn't sleep?"
"Not yet."
Henderson stood beside him.
"You thinking about Arsenal?"
"A little."
"Miss it?"
Francesco smiled.
"Already."
Henderson nodded.
"But you're here now."
"Yeah."
Francesco looked toward the pitch.
"It feels strange."
"What does?"
"Everything."
He paused.
"I spent the whole season thinking about winning trophies. Then we won all four. Then there was the parade. And now…"
"The World Cup."
Francesco nodded.
Henderson smiled.
"That's football."
They stood quietly.
Then Henderson added:
"Don't carry Arsenal onto this pitch."
Francesco looked at him.
"I won't."
"Bring what Arsenal taught you."
Francesco smiled.
"That's different."
"Exactly."
As the days passed, the difference became obvious.
The players were sharper.
The passing was quicker.
The defensive movements were more coordinated.
The double pivot understood its responsibilities.
The back three could become a back four within seconds.
Wing-backs knew when to advance.
Full-backs knew when to remain deeper.
Attackers understood the first defensive movement after losing possession.
And Francesco began to understand his own role more completely.
Between the lines.
Sometimes pressing.
Sometimes dropping.
Sometimes turning.
Sometimes holding the ball.
Sometimes attacking space immediately.
He didn't need to touch the ball constantly to influence the match.
Southgate wanted him connected to everything.
That was the challenge.
And Francesco embraced it.
One afternoon, after a particularly clean tactical sequence, Southgate stopped the session.
He looked across the players.
"That's what I want."
Nobody moved.
"Not perfect football."
He smiled slightly.
"Connected football."
The players nodded.
Southgate looked toward Francesco.
Then Kane.
Then Henderson.
Then the defensive line.
"Keep building."
Then the final session of that stretch was exhausting.
By the end, shirts were soaked.
Legs were heavy.
Breathing was laboured.
The coaching staff had pushed them through tactical work, transition drills and a final eleven-versus-eleven exercise.
The whistle finally sounded.
Everyone stopped.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Walker dropped onto the grass.
"I hate football."
Kane laughed.
"No, you don't."
"Right now I do."
Francesco sat down beside him.
"You'll love it again tomorrow."
Walker looked at him.
"That's the problem."
The players laughed.
Soon everyone was gathered loosely across the pitch.
No formation.
No positions.
No club colours.
Just England.
Francesco looked around.
Manchester United players stood beside Manchester City players.
Liverpool players stood beside Arsenal players.
Tottenham players stood beside Chelsea players.
Rivalries that normally filled stadiums with hatred had disappeared.
Not permanently.
Not outside these gates.
But here, they meant nothing.
Francesco looked at the England badge on his shirt.
Then at his teammates.
Rooney stood nearby.
Kane was talking quietly with Henderson.
Walker was still complaining about his legs.
Sterling was laughing with Rashford.
Maguire and Stones were discussing something about the day's defending.
Alexander-Arnold was asking Trippier about a set-piece movement.
Everyone was tired.
But everyone was together.
Francesco took a slow breath.
This was what he had wanted.
The same trust.
The same unity.
The same willingness to sacrifice for the person beside you.
The culture that had carried England through Euro 2016 was beginning to live again.
Only now the stakes were greater.
The World Cup wasn't some distant dream anymore.
Belgium was waiting.
Panama was waiting.
Tunisia was waiting.
And England would face all three together.
Southgate stood at the edge of the pitch, watching his players.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he smiled.
Francesco caught his eye.
Southgate gave him a small nod.
Francesco returned it.
No speech was necessary.
The message was already understood.
They were ready to work.
Ready to sacrifice.
Ready to trust one another.
And, most importantly, ready to walk onto the World Cup stage not as a collection of Premier League rivals, but as one England side.
A week later, St George's Park felt strangely different.
The same corridors that had been filled with early-morning footsteps and tired jokes now carried a sense of departure.
Suitcases stood outside rooms.
England bags were lined up near the entrance.
Staff members checked names against lists while players moved between the accommodation buildings carrying the last of their belongings.
Nobody needed reminding what day it was.
They were leaving.
The World Cup was no longer something waiting somewhere in the distance.
They were going to Russia.
Francesco emerged from his room with his England bag over one shoulder and a small suitcase rolling behind him.
Walker was already waiting near the entrance.
"You packed everything?"
Francesco looked at him.
"Yes."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
"Passport?"
Francesco stopped.
Walker grinned.
"I was joking."
Francesco stared at him.
"Not funny."
"It was a little funny."
"You're an idiot."
Walker laughed.
"Come on, captain."
They walked toward the team bus.
The entire squad was gathering outside.
Kane was talking with Sterling.
Rashford was laughing with Lingard.
Henderson was helping one of the younger players move a bag.
Rooney stood nearby, speaking with a member of staff.
Southgate watched everything from a short distance away.
There was no dramatic farewell.
No speeches.
They simply looked like a group of footballers leaving for another match.
Except this wasn't another match.
This was the World Cup.
Francesco climbed aboard and took a seat beside Leah's empty place in his thoughts before remembering that she wasn't coming with the team.
That thought made him smile.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Leah.
Go enjoy it. We'll be watching every second. ❤️
He smiled and put the phone away.
The bus doors closed.
As it pulled away from St George's Park, several players looked through the windows.
Francesco watched the training centre disappear behind them.
All those sessions.
The tactical arguments.
The jokes.
The exhaustion.
The late-night conversations.
The first real feeling that they had become England rather than simply players from different clubs.
It was all behind them now.
Kane looked across the aisle.
"Feels quick, doesn't it?"
Francesco nodded.
"Very."
Henderson leaned forward from the seat behind.
"That's because you've been too busy training."
Walker laughed.
"Or complaining."
"I don't complain."
Everyone around him laughed.
"You absolutely complain," Kane said.
Walker shook his head.
"Unbelievable."
The bus continued toward the airport.
The conversations slowly shifted toward Russia.
The opening match.
The group.
The possibility of reaching the knockout rounds.
Nobody said too much.
But everyone was thinking about it.
Then England flight to Saint Petersburg was quieter than the bus had been.
Some players slept.
Others watched films.
A few played cards.
Francesco sat near the window for part of the journey, headphones around his neck but no music playing.
He simply watched the clouds.
For months, the World Cup had existed in his imagination.
Now he was physically flying toward it.
He thought about the Champions League final.
Kyiv.
The trophy.
The parade.
The four pieces of silverware.
Then England.
The shirt.
The captain's armband.
Southgate's tactical meetings.
The training ground.
Belgium.
Panama.
Tunisia.
Everything had happened so quickly.
Eventually the aircraft began its descent.
The announcement came over the cabin.
The players stirred.
Seat belts clicked.
Window shades opened.
Saint Petersburg appeared below them.
Francesco looked down.
Russia.
The World Cup.
They had arrived.
At Saint Petersburg Airport, the squad moved through the terminal under the direction of staff and security personnel.
Luggage appeared gradually.
England bags.
Suitcases.
Equipment cases.
Medical supplies.
The usual chaos of international travel.
Players collected their belongings and began moving toward the waiting vehicles.
Outside, security personnel were already positioned around the team.
The bus waited.
The players climbed aboard.
As soon as Francesco found a seat, Walker dropped into the one beside him.
"Home for the next few weeks."
Francesco looked through the window.
"Not bad."
The bus began moving.
Saint Petersburg slowly gave way to quieter roads.
The city remained visible for a while, but gradually the scenery became greener.
Buildings became less dense.
The road stretched ahead through the Russian landscape.
Eventually, the journey toward Repino became noticeably calmer.
The contrast was almost strange.
The biggest football tournament in the world was about to begin, yet the place they were heading toward looked peaceful.
Trees.
Quiet roads.
Low buildings.
Long stretches of greenery.
Francesco looked outside.
"This is where we're staying?"
Walker nodded.
"Apparently."
"Feels like we're nowhere near a World Cup."
Walker smiled.
"Maybe that's the point."
ForRestMix Club Sport & Relax Resort sat in the quiet village of Repino.
When the bus arrived, the players looked around curiously.
It was calm.
Almost secluded.
Nothing like the noise that would soon surround Russia's stadiums.
Staff welcomed them as they stepped off the bus.
Southgate gathered everyone near the entrance.
"Welcome to Russia."
A few players smiled.
"This will be our base during the tournament."
He gestured toward the resort.
"For now, settle in. Recover from the journey. Get comfortable."
He paused.
"Training officially begins tomorrow morning at Stadium Spartak."
Walker groaned quietly.
Francesco laughed.
Southgate heard it.
"I can hear you."
The players laughed.
"Good," Southgate continued. "That means you're awake."
He smiled.
"Tonight is about recovery. Eat well. Rest. Spend time with the staff. Get yourselves settled."
The squad dispersed.
Rooms were assigned.
Bags were unpacked.
Players explored the resort.
Some gathered in common areas.
Others went straight to their rooms.
Francesco spent part of the evening speaking with Kane, Henderson and Rooney.
They talked about nothing particularly important.
Food.
Travel.
Training.
Family.
The normal conversations helped.
Because tomorrow, everything would become serious again.
Then the following morning, Stadium Spartak became England's new working environment.
Training began early.
The grass was immaculate.
The coaching staff had already prepared the drills.
Southgate stood near the halfway line.
"Let's get started."
The first sessions were familiar but sharper.
Defensive structure.
Midfield balance.
Transitions.
Attacking combinations.
Set pieces.
The weeks at St George's Park had given the team a foundation.
Now Russia gave them the setting in which that foundation would be tested.
The coaches demanded even more precision.
The back three shifted.
The back four reformed.
The double pivot maintained its spacing.
Wing-backs advanced and recovered.
Francesco moved between the lines.
Kane occupied defenders.
Sterling and Rashford attacked spaces.
The ball moved quickly.
Southgate stopped the session.
"Again."
They repeated it.
"Better."
Again.
The squad was becoming increasingly synchronized.
Francesco could feel it.
Passes arrived before he expected them.
Movements happened without instructions.
Players began understanding one another instinctively.
That was what weeks of preparation had created.
The media attention increased almost immediately.
Mandatory press conferences became part of the routine.
Players sat before rows of journalists and cameras.
Questions came quickly.
England's expectations.
The group.
Belgium.
Panama.
Tunisia.
Southgate's tactics.
The team's chances of reaching the latter stages.
Then, inevitably, Francesco.
"Francesco, you've just won the Premier League, Carabao Cup, FA Cup and Champions League. How difficult is it to switch from club football to the World Cup?"
He smiled.
"It's difficult because the scale is different. But once you're here, you have to focus on England."
Another journalist asked about his captaincy.
"What does it mean to lead England at a World Cup?"
Francesco thought for a moment.
"It's an enormous responsibility. But I don't think leadership is about one person. We have experienced players who help every day."
He mentioned Rooney.
Kane.
Henderson.
The staff.
His teammates.
Another question followed.
"Do you believe England can win?"
Francesco smiled.
"I believe we can compete."
Southgate gave essentially the same answer whenever journalists tried to provoke bigger predictions.
"We don't want to live in the future," he said during one press conference.
"We want to prepare for the next match."
That became his message.
No distractions.
No predictions.
No promises.
Just preparation.
The official World Cup photo shoot was an entirely different experience.
The players were dressed in their England kits.
Individual photographs first.
Standing.
Sitting.
Looking serious.
Looking slightly less serious.
Then group photographs.
Southgate joined them.
The photographers constantly adjusted positions.
"Francesco, two steps left."
He moved.
"Walker, closer."
Walker stepped forward.
"Harry, look toward the camera."
Kane smiled.
"I'm trying."
The photographer laughed.
Between shots, the players immediately returned to joking.
One photograph caught Francesco and Walker laughing before they were told to look serious.
Another captured Kane trying not to smile.
Rashford deliberately pulled a ridiculous expression when he thought the cameras weren't ready.
The strange part came afterward.
Seeing the photographs.
England.
World Cup.
Their faces alongside the tournament branding.
Francesco stared at one of them for a moment.
"This is weird."
Kane looked over.
"What?"
"Seeing it like that."
Kane smiled.
"Yeah."
He nodded toward the photograph.
"Looks official now."
Francesco laughed.
"It really does."
Then the open training session brought another change.
England supporters were allowed into designated areas around the stadium.
They arrived carrying flags and scarves.
Some wore shirts from previous generations.
Others wore Francesco's name.
The moment the players walked onto the pitch, the noise increased.
"ENGLAND!"
"ENGLAND!"
Then individual names.
"KANE!"
"ROONEY!"
"WALKER!"
And eventually—
"FRANCESCO!"
Francesco looked toward the stands.
Thousands of supporters were waving.
He raised a hand.
The response grew louder.
Walker laughed beside him.
"Still hearing it?"
"Apparently."
The session continued.
The players worked through drills while supporters sang.
Every good finish brought applause.
Every clever pass received cheers.
At the end, the players walked toward the supporters.
Francesco applauded them.
He understood now.
The excitement hadn't stayed in England.
It had followed them to Russia.
Across the country, the tournament atmosphere was becoming impossible to ignore.
Television networks broadcast from Russia almost constantly.
Sports programmes debated every group.
Analysts discussed favourites.
Journalists followed every training session.
Newspapers published predictions.
Fans from around the world arrived in Russia wearing their national colours.
Host cities filled with flags.
Shirts.
Scarves.
Songs.
Football conversations.
Everywhere Francesco looked, the World Cup seemed to be getting closer.
And then it arrived.
The opening day.
England gathered at the resort to watch the first match together.
The television screen showed the opening ceremony.
The players settled around the room.
Some sat on sofas.
Others stood behind them.
Staff members gathered nearby.
The atmosphere was relaxed, but nobody was truly casual.
Everyone was watching.
The stadium appeared on screen.
The Russian supporters were deafening.
The ceremony unfolded.
The players watched quietly.
Francesco looked around.
Everyone understood what it meant.
The tournament had begun.
Then the match started.
Russia attacked with confidence.
Saudi Arabia struggled to contain them.
When Russia scored the opening goal, the room reacted immediately.
Cheers.
Comments.
Nods.
Then another.
And another.
The Russian attack kept coming.
By halftime, the scoreline already looked dangerous.
Russia continued after the break.
The fourth goal brought louder reactions from the England players.
Walker shook his head.
"They're flying."
Henderson nodded.
"Very aggressive."
The fifth goal eventually arrived.
5–0.
The opening match was over.
Russia had made an emphatic statement.
For several seconds after the final whistle, nobody in the England room spoke.
Then Kane broke the silence.
"Well."
Walker laughed.
"That's one way to start a tournament."
Southgate remained thoughtful.
"They've played well."
Henderson nodded.
"Very well."
Francesco looked at the screen.
The Russian players were celebrating.
The crowd was still roaring.
The tournament had officially begun.
Not tomorrow.
Not next week.
Now.
Francesco leaned back.
Only a short time earlier, he'd been standing at St George's Park wondering what the World Cup would feel like.
Now it was happening in front of him.
He looked around the room.
Kane.
Walker.
Rooney.
Henderson.
Sterling.
Rashford.
The rest of the squad.
His teammates.
His England teammates.
The weeks of preparation had brought them here.
Soon, it would be their turn.
Francesco lowered his eyes for a moment, thinking about everything that had happened since the Champions League final.
The four trophies.
The parade.
The farewell.
St George's Park.
Russia.
Repino.
The training sessions.
The tactical meetings.
The arguments.
The laughter.
The friendships.
All of it had led to this.
The World Cup was no longer an idea.
It was alive.
And getting closer by the hour.
Francesco looked back at the television.
The Russian crowd was still celebrating.
He smiled faintly.
"It's started."
Henderson looked toward him.
"Yeah."
Francesco nodded.
"And we're next."
Nobody needed to answer.
They all knew.
The waiting was over.
The preparation was almost finished.
The biggest stage in international football had opened its doors. And soon, England would walk through them together.
______________________________________________
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, FA Cup 2016/2017, 2016/2017 Champions League, 2017/2018 Carabao Cup, Premier League 2017/2018, FA Cup 2017/2018, and Champions League 2017/2018.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 59
Goal: 76
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