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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
And the feeling that England had genuinely arrived at the tournament ready to compete.
As the final whistle still seemed to hang in the air.
For several seconds, Kaliningrad Stadium was nothing but noise.
England supporters were singing.
Flags were waving.
Players were embracing one another in the middle of the pitch.
The scoreboard remained fixed at England 3–0 Belgium.
Francesco stood among them, breathing heavily, his shirt still damp with sweat, watching his teammates celebrate.
Kane came over again and pulled him into another hug.
"First game."
Francesco laughed.
"First win."
"Three points."
"Clean sheet."
Kane grinned.
"Not a bad start."
Behind them, Walker was still celebrating his assist with anyone willing to listen.
"I told Harry that cross was perfect."
Kane immediately shouted back.
"It was my finish that mattered!"
Walker placed a hand over his chest.
"Unbelievable."
Henderson laughed.
Rooney walked over, still wearing the captain's armband Francesco had handed him.
The two exchanged a look.
"Good night?" Rooney asked.
Francesco smiled.
"Pretty good."
Rooney lifted the armband slightly.
"Thanks for this."
Francesco laughed.
"You did all right with it."
"All right?"
Rooney pointed toward the scoreboard.
"Three-nil."
Francesco shook his head.
"Fair enough."
The players slowly began making their way toward the tunnel.
Some stopped to applaud the supporters.
Others waved.
Kane tossed his shirt toward the stands, prompting another enormous roar.
Francesco remained near the edge of the pitch for another moment, looking toward the England supporters.
He raised his hand.
The response was immediate.
"FRANCESCO!"
He smiled.
Then he turned toward the tunnel.
He had barely taken a few steps when someone approached him.
"Francesco?"
He turned.
A FIFA staff member stood nearby, holding a radio and wearing an official accreditation badge.
"Sorry to stop you. You've been selected for a post-match interview on the pitch."
Francesco glanced toward the tunnel.
His teammates were already disappearing inside.
"Now?"
The staff member smiled.
"Just a few minutes."
Francesco nodded.
"Okay."
He followed him toward the designated broadcast area.
The noise from the stadium remained loud behind them, but the atmosphere changed as they moved toward the television crews.
Cameras were positioned around a small interview area.
An interviewer waited with a microphone.
As Francesco approached, the interviewer smiled.
"Congratulations."
"Thank you."
The camera light came on.
The first question came immediately.
"Francesco, England have beaten Belgium 3–0 in their opening World Cup match. How does that feel?"
Francesco took a breath.
"It feels fantastic. Obviously, we're very happy with the result. Belgium are a very strong team, and we knew before the game that we would have difficult moments. I think the important thing was that we stayed together."
He glanced briefly toward the pitch.
"Everyone contributed. Jordan made some huge saves. The defenders were excellent. The midfield worked incredibly hard. Harry scored, Wayne scored, the substitutes came on and helped us finish the game. The staff prepared us brilliantly. So it's not about one player."
The interviewer nodded.
"And your own performance? Your first World Cup appearance, and you scored."
Francesco smiled.
"I don't think you can dream of a better beginning."
He laughed softly.
"When the ball went in, I honestly didn't know what to do for a second. I just looked at it."
The interviewer smiled.
"Was that your biggest moment in football?"
Francesco thought about it.
"It's certainly one of them."
He looked toward the England supporters.
"Playing for England at a World Cup is something you think about when you're young. You imagine the stadium, the anthem, the crowd. Then suddenly you're actually there."
He shook his head slightly.
"It felt real when the ball went in."
The interviewer moved to the next question.
"You were captain tonight. Was that responsibility difficult?"
Francesco nodded.
"It's a huge responsibility."
He paused.
"But I didn't feel alone."
He mentioned Kane.
"Henderson."
Then Rooney.
"The senior players help enormously. Everyone talks. Everyone communicates. We have players with different personalities, but they all care about the same thing."
He looked toward the England dressing-room entrance.
"Winning for England."
The interviewer then brought up Belgium's substitutions.
"Belgium introduced Eden Hazard and Kevin De Bruyne early in the second half. Did that change the game?"
"Definitely."
Francesco nodded immediately.
"Those are world-class players. You can't pretend they're not going to change the game."
He smiled faintly.
"They made things uncomfortable."
The interviewer laughed.
"But England stayed disciplined."
"That was probably the most important thing."
Francesco became more serious.
"We could have panicked. We could have started chasing them individually. But we didn't. Henderson protected the defence. Stones and Maguire stayed together. Kyle and Danny were disciplined. Pickford made some really important saves."
He nodded.
"That's what gave us the opportunity to regain control."
"And then Harry Kane scored."
"Exactly."
Francesco smiled.
"That's what good teams do. You survive the difficult moments, then you take your opportunity."
The interviewer glanced down at his notes.
"And then there was your substitution. You handed the captain's armband to Wayne Rooney."
Francesco laughed.
"That was probably one of my favourite moments."
"Why?"
"Because Wayne deserves that respect."
He looked genuinely proud.
"He's been an important voice for this group. He helps the younger players, he talks to everyone, and he understands what it means to represent England."
Francesco touched his chest lightly.
"So giving him the armband felt natural."
"And then he scored."
Francesco laughed.
"Which made it even better."
The interviewer smiled.
"You were celebrating wildly from the bench."
"I couldn't help it."
Francesco shook his head.
"He'd literally just taken the armband from me. Then he scores from outside the box."
He laughed again.
"I thought, 'Well, that's one way to take over.'"
The interviewer laughed.
"Finally, what does it mean to begin your first World Cup with a goal, a victory, three points and a clean sheet?"
Francesco became quieter.
"It means we're in a good position."
He looked toward the pitch again.
"But that's all."
The interviewer waited.
Francesco continued.
"We prepared for this for weeks. We worked hard at St George's Park. We worked hard in Repino. We came here knowing exactly what we wanted to do."
He smiled.
"Tonight was one step."
He raised one finger.
"One."
"There's a long way to go."
The interviewer nodded.
"Congratulations, Francesco."
"Thank you."
The camera light went off.
Francesco relaxed immediately.
The FIFA staff member approached again.
"One more thing."
Francesco looked at him.
The man was carrying something.
A small official presentation case.
Francesco's eyebrows rose.
"What's that?"
The staff member opened it.
Inside was the Man of the Match award.
Francesco stared at it for a moment.
"Seriously?"
The staff member smiled.
"Congratulations."
Francesco accepted it.
"Thank you."
Photographers immediately moved closer.
"Francesco, over here."
He turned.
"Look this way."
Flash.
Another.
"Hold it up."
Francesco lifted the award slightly.
More photographs.
"Now one toward the pitch."
He turned.
The photographers continued.
For a moment, Francesco stood alone beside the pitch, holding the individual award while the enormous stadium continued celebrating behind him.
Then he lowered it.
"I appreciate this," he told the staff member, "but honestly, I'd rather celebrate with the team."
The staff member nodded.
"Of course."
Francesco smiled.
"It's a team victory."
After the final photographs, he thanked everyone and headed toward the tunnel.
The moment he entered the England dressing room, the noise hit him again.
Music was playing.
Players were laughing.
Someone had turned the speakers up.
Rooney was immediately surrounded.
"Great goal!"
"Wayne!"
"What a finish!"
Rooney laughed.
"Thank you, thank you."
Walker was still discussing his assist.
"I told you it was a good cross."
Kane looked at him.
"Stop talking about the cross."
"It was a great cross."
"It was a great finish."
"It was both."
Henderson walked past them.
"Can we just agree it was a goal?"
Everyone laughed.
Francesco held up the Man of the Match award.
The reaction was immediate.
"Ooooh!"
Walker pointed.
"Look at him."
Francesco laughed.
"Don't start."
Kane came closer.
"Where's mine?"
"You scored."
"Exactly."
"Then ask FIFA."
Kane shook his head.
"Unbelievable."
The joking continued.
But beneath it was genuine happiness.
They had expected Belgium to challenge them.
They had expected difficult moments.
And Belgium had given them exactly that.
Hazard and De Bruyne had changed the game.
Lukaku had caused problems.
There had been moments when England had been under pressure.
But they had stayed together.
The defenders discussed the moments against Lukaku.
Stones talked about one particular challenge.
Maguire added something.
Henderson remembered the save from Pickford.
Pickford himself sat nearby, laughing as the others praised him.
"Seriously," Kane said, "that second-half save was huge."
Pickford shrugged.
"That's my job."
Francesco pointed toward him.
"Exactly. And you did it."
Pickford smiled.
"Thanks, captain."
The word still felt strange.
Francesco smiled.
He had heard it all night.
Eventually, the noise began to settle.
Players disappeared into the shower room.
Francesco followed.
He finally stood beneath the warm water.
For the first time since kickoff, there was no crowd.
No cameras.
No teammates shouting.
No tactical instructions.
Just water.
He closed his eyes.
And finally allowed himself to think.
The goal.
The roar.
The captain's armband.
The anthem.
The young mascot holding his hand.
Courtois standing in front of him at the coin toss.
The ball crossing the goal line.
Kane embracing him.
The supporters screaming his name.
The second half.
Hazard.
De Bruyne.
Pickford's saves.
Kane's goal.
Rooney taking the armband.
Rooney's goal.
Three-nil.
A World Cup victory.
Francesco opened his eyes.
He smiled quietly.
There was something almost surreal about it.
A few months ago, none of this had felt real.
Now it was a memory.
And it belonged to him.
But more importantly, it belonged to England.
He finished his shower and dried himself.
Then he changed into the official England jumpsuit.
When he returned to the dressing room, the mood had become calmer.
Some players were already dressed.
Others were still packing.
Equipment staff moved around collecting shirts and boots.
Francesco picked up his belongings.
The Man of the Match award remained in his hand.
Walker noticed.
"You carrying that all the way home?"
Francesco looked at it.
"Apparently."
"Don't drop it."
"Thanks for the advice."
They laughed.
Soon the players began leaving together.
They walked through the stadium corridors and eventually emerged outside.
The night air was cooler now.
The supporters were still gathered around parts of the stadium.
Some were singing.
Others waved as the England players passed.
Francesco acknowledged them with a raised hand.
Then the squad climbed aboard the team bus.
The atmosphere inside was lighter.
They had done the difficult part.
Three points were secured.
Players dropped into their seats.
Kane sat nearby, still talking about the second goal.
Walker continued insisting the assist deserved more recognition.
Rooney was laughing with Henderson.
Sterling and Rashford were replaying moments from the match on a phone.
Francesco sat among them, the award resting carefully beside him.
He looked around.
Everyone was tired.
But happy.
"Good night," Henderson said.
Francesco nodded.
"Very good night."
The bus remained stationary.
Francesco glanced toward the window.
The stadium entrance was still visible.
"Why aren't we moving?"
Walker looked toward the front.
"Boss isn't here."
Francesco frowned.
Then remembered.
Southgate.
The manager had remained behind for the mandatory post-match press conference.
Of course.
The players settled back.
Nobody seemed particularly bothered.
They had time.
Francesco leaned against his seat and looked down at the award in his hands.
Then he looked through the window again.
Southgate would come soon.
And then they would leave.
The first match was over.
The first three points were theirs.
But as Francesco sat among his teammates, listening to the laughter and quiet conversations around the bus, he understood something.
The night had been extraordinary.
But it was only the beginning.
Belgium had been the first test.
Panama would come next.
Tunisia after that.
And eventually, if England earned the right, the knockout rounds.
For now, though, Francesco simply sat back.
He held the Man of the Match award against his lap.
He listened to Rooney laughing.
Kane talking.
Walker complaining.
Henderson calming everyone down.
As the bus remained still for another few minutes.
Outside the windows, Kaliningrad Stadium was slowly beginning to empty.
The great floodlights still illuminated the streets around the ground, while supporters continued to sing behind the barriers. England flags moved above the crowd, occasionally catching the cool night breeze before settling again.
Inside the bus, however, the energy had changed.
The players had spent nearly two hours celebrating, talking and reliving every important moment.
Now exhaustion was beginning to creep in.
Francesco sat comfortably in his seat, the Man of the Match award resting carefully beside him.
He glanced toward it.
Then toward the stadium.
Still no Southgate.
Walker leaned across the aisle.
"How long does a press conference take?"
Henderson shrugged.
"Depends how many questions they ask."
Walker sighed.
"They'll probably ask him about every pass we made."
Kane laughed.
"They'll definitely ask him about my goal."
Walker immediately turned around.
"Your goal?"
"Yes."
"That was my assist."
"It was my finish."
"My assist created it."
"My finish put it in the net."
Rooney, sitting nearby, shook his head.
"You two have been arguing about this for twenty minutes."
Walker pointed at Kane.
"He started it."
"I didn't say anything."
"You looked smug."
Kane laughed.
"I was celebrating."
"That smug look was celebrating?"
"It was a happy face."
Henderson leaned forward.
"Can we all agree it was a good goal?"
Walker and Kane looked at him.
"No," they said together.
The bus erupted in laughter.
Francesco shook his head.
"You're both ridiculous."
Walker smiled.
"You scored first. You don't get involved."
Francesco looked down at the award.
"I've got my own problems."
Rooney glanced at it.
"Still can't believe they gave you that."
Francesco looked at him.
"Why?"
"Because I scored."
Everyone laughed again.
Rooney raised his hands.
"I'm joking."
The rear door of the bus finally opened.
A few seconds later, Gareth Southgate appeared.
The players immediately applauded.
Southgate smiled as he walked down the aisle.
"Thank you."
Kane stood halfway from his seat.
"Good press conference?"
Southgate nodded.
"Long."
Walker groaned.
"I knew it."
Southgate stopped beside him.
"What?"
"They asked you about my assist, didn't they?"
Southgate stared at him.
"Several times."
Walker leaned back proudly.
"Good."
Kane shook his head.
Southgate laughed quietly.
"Congratulations, everyone."
The atmosphere became a little quieter.
Southgate looked around the bus.
"Enjoy tonight. You've earned that."
He paused.
"But don't forget we're going back to work."
A few players nodded.
"Recovery first," Southgate continued. "The tournament has only just started."
Francesco caught his manager's eye.
Southgate gave him a small nod.
Francesco returned it.
Southgate took his seat near the front.
The doors closed.
The engine came alive.
And finally, after waiting outside the stadium, the England bus began moving.
⸻
The streets of Kaliningrad passed slowly beyond the windows.
The players remained in good spirits.
Some replayed moments from the match on their phones.
Others were already beginning to look half-asleep.
Francesco sat quietly, listening to the conversations around him.
"Did you see Pickford's save?"
Henderson was saying.
"That one in the second half?"
"Yeah."
Kane nodded.
"That kept us ahead."
Pickford, sitting a few seats away, looked embarrassed by the attention.
"You're making it sound bigger than it was."
"It was big," Stones said.
Pickford smiled.
"Just doing my job."
Francesco leaned forward.
"You did more than that."
Pickford looked at him.
"Thanks."
The conversation shifted toward Hazard and De Bruyne.
Nobody pretended Belgium had been easy.
When those two players entered the match, the entire rhythm had changed.
"They made us work," Maguire said.
Stones nodded.
"Especially De Bruyne."
"He was finding those little pockets," Henderson added.
Francesco remembered the moments from the pitch.
The sudden movement.
The passes behind the defensive line.
Hazard receiving the ball and turning.
Pickford's saves.
"We handled it," Francesco said.
Southgate, hearing him from the front, turned slightly.
"That was important."
The bus quieted.
Southgate continued.
"They were always going to have a spell. Good teams do."
He looked down the aisle.
"What mattered was that we didn't lose our heads."
Francesco nodded.
"We stayed together."
"Exactly."
Southgate smiled.
"That's what we'll need throughout this tournament."
The bus continued toward the airport.
The celebration didn't disappear.
It simply became quieter.
More reflective.
Everyone knew they had accomplished something important.
But everyone also knew there were still matches ahead.
At the airport, the squad moved through the terminal with the same organised efficiency that had accompanied them throughout the tournament.
Bags were collected.
Equipment cases were checked.
Players moved through security.
The adrenaline that had carried them through the evening was finally disappearing.
Kane yawned.
Walker noticed.
"Already tired?"
Kane looked at him.
"It's nearly midnight."
Walker checked his phone.
"Fair point."
Rooney laughed.
"You're getting old."
Kane pointed at him.
"I'm not the one who scored from thirty yards and then celebrated like he was twenty-two."
Rooney grinned.
"Still younger than you."
The group laughed.
Francesco carried the award carefully as they boarded the England flight back to Saint Petersburg.
Once inside the aircraft, the change was immediate.
The excitement remained, but fatigue had won.
Several players barely reached their seats before closing their eyes.
Sterling fell asleep almost immediately.
Rashford leaned back with his headphones on.
Walker was still talking for a few minutes before eventually becoming silent.
Kane watched a replay of the match on his phone.
Henderson sat beside him.
They watched without much commentary.
Occasionally one of them would say something.
"That was nearly bad."
"Yeah."
"Look at the space there."
"Southgate will show us that tomorrow."
Francesco smiled.
Of course he would.
He found his seat beside the window.
The aircraft began moving.
As Kaliningrad disappeared beneath them, Francesco looked out into the darkness.
He had played his first World Cup match.
He had scored.
He had captained England.
He had been substituted.
He had watched Rooney take the armband and score.
England had won 3–0.
And now he was holding the Man of the Match award.
It was almost too much to process.
He looked down at the award resting beside him.
Then out through the window again.
The World Cup had been an idea for so long.
Now it was becoming a collection of memories.
The anthem.
The mascot.
Courtois.
The goal.
The roar.
The second half.
The final whistle.
He smiled.
Then another thought entered his mind.
Panama.
Francesco leaned his head against the window.
Belgium was finished.
The three points were secured.
Tomorrow, eventually, Panama would become the next priority.
He closed his eyes.
For now, he allowed himself to enjoy the moment.
As they landed in Saint Petersburg later that night.
By then, most of the squad looked completely exhausted.
Players collected their luggage almost automatically.
Nobody complained.
Nobody rushed.
The team bus was waiting outside.
They climbed aboard.
Francesco placed his award safely beside him before settling into his seat.
The familiar journey toward Repino began.
Streetlights passed across the windows.
Conversation was minimal now.
Even Walker was quiet.
Francesco smiled.
"That's how I know you're tired."
Walker opened one eye.
"I'm resting."
"Of course."
"Very important."
Francesco laughed.
Eventually, the familiar surroundings of ForRestMix Club Sport & Relax Resort appeared.
They arrived late.
Staff members were waiting to help with luggage.
A few quiet greetings were exchanged.
"Good work tonight."
"Thank you."
"Get some rest."
The players disappeared toward their rooms one by one.
Francesco entered his room, placed the Man of the Match award somewhere safe, and finally allowed himself to collapse onto the bed.
The room was silent.
For the first time all day, there was nothing left to do.
He smiled into the darkness.
England had won.
Then he fell asleep.
The following morning felt completely different.
No alarms demanding immediate training.
No tactical meeting.
No intense session.
No rush.
It was officially a rest day.
The coaching staff wanted the players to recover physically and mentally after the Belgium match.
Breakfast lasted longer than usual.
Players wandered in gradually.
Some wore casual clothes.
Others arrived in training gear despite having no demanding session scheduled.
Kane sat with Henderson.
Walker joined them carrying a plate that looked far too full.
Henderson stared at it.
"You're eating all that?"
Walker looked down.
"Recovery."
Kane laughed.
"That's not recovery."
"It is if I eat it slowly."
Francesco joined them.
"What's on the menu?"
Walker pointed proudly.
"Everything."
Francesco shook his head.
"You're impossible."
The day unfolded slowly.
Some players used the resort's recovery facilities.
Others relaxed in the common areas.
There were conversations about families, music, films and life away from football.
For once, nobody had to discuss defensive spacing.
Nobody had to watch Belgium's attacking patterns.
Nobody needed to think about pressing triggers.
They could simply be themselves.
Francesco found that strangely refreshing.
He spent time with several teammates talking about things completely unrelated to football.
Where they had grown up.
Places they wanted to visit.
Food they missed.
Things they did during holidays.
The kind of conversations that rarely happened during a normal training week.
Later, some of the squad decided to explore Saint Petersburg.
They travelled with the appropriate staff and security, keeping everything organised but relaxed.
Francesco joined them.
The city felt alive.
World Cup flags appeared along streets.
Supporters moved through public spaces wearing shirts from countries all over the world.
There were songs.
Laughter.
Photographs.
Football everywhere.
Francesco looked around at the architecture as they walked.
"This place is incredible."
Henderson nodded.
"First time seeing it properly?"
"Yeah."
He looked down the street.
"Normally we're just training or travelling."
Rooney smiled.
"That's international football."
They stopped occasionally to take photographs and admire the surroundings.
Nobody was trying to turn the day into an event.
They were simply enjoying being somewhere new.
Francesco spoke with teammates about life beyond football.
Family.
Travel.
The things they wanted to do once their careers eventually slowed down.
For a few hours, they weren't England players preparing for a World Cup.
They were just friends walking through a city.
And Francesco understood why days like this mattered.
A tournament wasn't built only through tactics.
It was built through relationships.
Trust.
Laughter.
Knowing the person beside you.
When the team returned to Repino, everyone seemed more relaxed.
The rest day had done exactly what it was supposed to do.
Nobody had forgotten the World Cup.
They had simply given themselves permission to breathe.
Then the next morning, the football returned.
Stadium Spartak once again became England's working environment.
The grass was immaculate.
The cones were already arranged.
The coaching staff were waiting.
Southgate stood near the centre circle.
The players gathered around him.
He looked at them.
"Belgium is finished."
The sentence was simple.
Nobody misunderstood it.
"We enjoyed the victory," he continued. "We should have enjoyed it."
A few smiles appeared.
"But now it's history."
He pointed toward the training pitch.
"Panama."
The players nodded.
"Different opponent. Different problems."
Southgate wanted no complacency.
Panama would not approach the game in the same manner as Belgium.
Their defensive organisation would need to be studied.
Their transitions would require attention.
Their ability to sit deeper meant England would need patience.
The training session reflected that.
Attacking patterns were rehearsed.
Players worked on moving between defensive lines.
The midfield practiced circulating possession quickly enough to shift a compact block.
Full-backs worked on creating width.
The forwards practiced runs designed to open spaces rather than simply attack them directly.
Set pieces followed.
Corners.
Free kicks.
Defensive organisation.
Then transitions.
Lose the ball.
React.
Recover.
Win it back.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Southgate stopped one sequence.
"Too slow."
The players reset.
"Move it faster."
The ball moved.
"Better."
Francesco worked constantly on the left.
Sometimes remaining wide.
Sometimes drifting inside.
Sometimes dropping deeper to receive.
The tactical demands were different from Belgium.
And that was precisely the point.
One opponent couldn't prepare them for another.
During a break, Francesco noticed one of the younger players looking frustrated.
He walked over.
"Don't worry about the mistake."
The player looked at him.
"I should've seen the pass."
"You'll see it next time."
Francesco smiled.
"That's what training is for."
The player nodded.
"Thanks."
Francesco returned to his position.
He understood his responsibility now in a way he hadn't fully understood before the tournament began.
Being captain wasn't simply wearing the armband.
Sometimes it meant talking.
Sometimes it meant listening.
Sometimes it meant helping someone else recover from a mistake.
And sometimes it meant making sure everyone remembered what mattered.
Three points against Belgium were valuable.
But they were only three points.
Nothing more.
Southgate repeated that message throughout the session.
"We don't carry the Belgium result onto the pitch against Panama."
He looked around.
"We carry the lessons."
That distinction stayed with Francesco.
England had learned that they could survive pressure.
They had learned that their structure worked.
They had learned that they could hurt a strong opponent.
Now they had to prove they could do it again against a completely different challenge.
The session continued.
Panama's defensive shape appeared on the video screens later that afternoon.
The coaching staff studied their movement.
Where the spaces appeared.
How quickly they shifted.
How they defended crosses.
How they reacted when possession was lost.
England studied everything.
Francesco took notes.
Kane asked questions.
Henderson discussed midfield positioning.
The defenders talked through transition risks.
Nobody was resting on the 3–0 victory anymore.
That evening, Francesco stood outside the training facility for a moment.
The Russian air was cool.
The lights from Stadium Spartak illuminated the pitch behind him.
He could still remember the noise in Kaliningrad.
The goal.
The celebration.
The captain's armband.
The final whistle.
But now another thought had taken its place.
Panama.
He smiled faintly.
The tournament had moved forward.
And so had England.
Behind him, Walker called out.
"Captain!"
Francesco turned.
"What?"
"You coming?"
Francesco looked back at the pitch one final time.
Then smiled.
"Yeah."
He walked toward his teammates.
The jokes had returned.
The laughter.
The familiar noise of a group that was becoming closer with every day.
The Belgium victory had given them confidence.
The rest day had allowed them to breathe.
Now the work had resumed.
Stadium Spartak was once again their classroom, their workplace, their preparation ground.
And somewhere ahead waited Panama.
Another match.
Another three points to chase.
Another opportunity to move one step closer to the knockout stage.
Francesco knew better than to think too far beyond it.
For now, there was only the next opponent.
The next training session and next ninety minutes, with the England shirt on his back.
__________________________________________________
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: 5
Goal: 5
Assist: 1
MOTM: 3
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