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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
Then the England squad gathered near the centre of the pitch, still laughing and talking as the stadium gradually began to empty.
Then the England squad remained gathered near the centre circle for another few minutes.
Nobody seemed particularly interested in leaving just yet.
The stadium was slowly losing its noise, but the England supporters were still singing from the stands. A few flags remained raised above the crowd, while photographers moved around the pitch trying to capture the final images of the night.
Five goals.
Five different moments of celebration.
And another clean sheet.
Francesco stood among his teammates, hands resting loosely on his hips, looking toward the scoreboard.
ENGLAND 5–0 PANAMA
Two matches.
Two victories.
Six points.
And now, officially, England were through to the knockout stages.
The thought made him smile.
Kane came alongside him.
"Not a bad couple of games."
Francesco glanced at him.
"Not bad?"
Kane laughed.
"I'm trying to stay humble."
"You're doing a terrible job."
Kane nudged him with his shoulder.
"Five goals, mate."
Francesco shook his head.
"You scored one."
"One important one."
"Of course."
Behind them, Walker shouted.
"Don't forget my assist!"
Kane immediately turned.
"Here we go."
Walker walked over, laughing.
"It was a very good cross."
"It was."
"Thank you."
Kane looked at Francesco.
"But he keeps talking about it."
Walker put his hands up.
"Because nobody appreciates quality."
Henderson walked past them.
"Can we get inside before you two start arguing again?"
Everyone laughed.
Eventually Southgate motioned toward the tunnel.
"Come on, lads."
The players began moving.
Francesco stayed near the middle of the group, exchanging handshakes and hugs as they walked.
Stones was still receiving congratulations for his header.
Lingard kept getting reminded about his goal.
Sterling was being teased about how calm he had looked for the fifth.
Rooney, naturally, had somehow managed to turn his assist into part of the conversation.
"You know," he said casually, "that fifth goal doesn't happen without my pass."
Sterling looked at him.
"I'm pretty sure I finished it."
"Yes."
"So why are you taking credit?"
Rooney grinned.
"Because I'm old. I'm allowed."
Sterling laughed.
The mood was easy.
Nobody was shouting wildly anymore.
The adrenaline was slowly fading.
They had done their job.
And perhaps more importantly, they had handled the pressure of expectation.
Belgium had tested their ability to survive.
Panama had tested their ability to control.
England had answered both.
When Francesco entered the dressing room, the atmosphere was still celebratory, but quieter than after Belgium.
Music played from one of the speakers.
A few players clapped as the goals appeared again on a nearby television.
Lingard pointed toward the screen.
"Look at that."
Francesco turned.
His goal replayed.
Lingard's pass.
His run.
The finish.
The celebration.
Francesco smiled.
"Good pass."
Lingard nodded proudly.
"I know."
Kane laughed.
"You two are going to watch that all night?"
"Maybe."
Stones walked over.
"Wait until you see mine."
The screen switched.
The corner came in.
Stones rose.
Header.
Goal.
He raised both arms.
"That's the one."
Francesco laughed.
"You've watched it already, haven't you?"
"Three times."
"Of course."
The fifth goal came next.
Rooney's pass.
Sterling's run.
The finish.
The dressing room erupted again.
Sterling shook his head.
"I can't believe how much space there was."
Rooney pointed toward the television.
"That's because I saw it."
"Thank you, Wayne."
"Exactly."
Henderson sat down nearby.
"Five-nil."
He looked around.
"Two wins."
Nobody spoke for a moment.
Then Kane nodded.
"Through."
That word seemed to settle over the room.
Through.
The knockout stage.
Officially.
Francesco leaned back against his locker.
It was still difficult to believe how quickly the tournament was moving.
A few days ago, England had been preparing for Belgium.
Now they had already secured progression.
The players began heading toward the showers.
Francesco followed.
Warm water hit his shoulders.
He closed his eyes.
The noise from the dressing room became distant.
Another match was behind him.
Another goal.
Another captaincy.
Another victory.
But this time, there was less tension.
He simply let the exhaustion take over.
After several minutes, he turned off the water and dried himself.
Back at his locker, he pulled on the official England jumpsuit.
The others were doing the same.
Walker struggled with one sleeve.
"Why do these things always feel smaller after a match?"
Henderson looked at him.
"Because you've eaten half the hotel."
Walker stared at him.
"That is completely unrelated."
Francesco laughed.
"Sure."
The players collected their bags and belongings.
Soon they were moving through the quiet stadium corridors.
The sound of the crowd had faded considerably now.
Their footsteps echoed against the concrete.
Eventually, the doors opened.
Cool night air met them.
The team bus waited outside.
The players climbed aboard one by one.
Francesco took his familiar seat and placed his belongings beside him.
The bus remained still.
Southgate was, as expected, still inside for the mandatory press conference.
Kane dropped into the seat nearby.
He pulled out his phone.
"Want to see the goal again?"
Francesco smiled.
"Which one?"
"The third."
"Your goal?"
"Obviously."
Walker leaned over.
"Show him the second."
Kane sighed.
"Why?"
"Because it's better."
"It's not."
The argument started again.
Francesco laughed.
"You two never get tired."
"Never," Walker replied.
Around them, other players watched clips.
Some had headphones on.
Others were scrolling through messages.
Rashford showed Vardy a replay of Sterling's goal.
Vardy shook his head.
"That's ridiculous."
Sterling looked over.
"What?"
"The amount of space."
Sterling smiled.
"Wayne found it."
Rooney, sitting nearby, pointed at himself.
"Thank you."
The players laughed.
Then someone mentioned the knockout stage.
"Who do we get next?"
Henderson looked up.
"We don't know yet."
"Could be anyone."
Francesco looked through the window.
The thought was exciting.
And slightly intimidating.
The group stage was no longer the entire horizon.
The next round would be different.
One bad evening could end everything.
But nobody wanted to think too deeply about that tonight.
They had earned this moment.
Eventually, the rear door opened.
Southgate stepped onto the bus.
The players immediately applauded.
Southgate smiled.
"Thank you."
Kane called from his seat.
"Good one, boss."
Southgate nodded.
"Good night."
He walked down the aisle.
"Congratulations. You've earned the opportunity to move forward."
He paused.
"But remember something."
The bus became quieter.
"Qualification is secured."
He looked around.
"The tournament isn't."
A few players nodded.
"The next objective requires exactly the same discipline we've shown in these two matches."
His eyes briefly met Francesco's.
"No shortcuts."
Francesco nodded.
Southgate smiled.
"Now get some rest."
He took his seat.
The doors closed.
The engine started.
The bus pulled away from Nizhny Novgorod Stadium.
Outside, the lights of the stadium slowly disappeared behind them.
Inside, the energy gradually faded.
Fatigue finally won.
Walker stopped talking.
Kane leaned his head against the window.
Sterling closed his eyes.
Rooney listened to music.
Francesco watched the city pass in silence.
The victory felt different now.
Quieter.
More settled.
England had six points.
They were through.
And yet, somehow, the tournament suddenly felt larger than before.
At the airport, the players moved almost automatically.
Bags.
Equipment.
Security.
Boarding.
Nobody had much energy left for conversation.
Once aboard the England flight, players sank into their seats.
Some immediately slept.
Others watched the Panama match again.
Francesco sat beside the window.
The aircraft eventually lifted into the night.
He looked down at Nizhny Novgorod disappearing beneath the clouds.
He thought about the two matches.
Belgium.
Panama.
Six points.
Two goals for himself.
The captain's armband.
The team.
The supporters.
He smiled.
Then he closed his eyes.
The flight passed quietly.
By the time they landed in Saint Petersburg, most of the squad looked completely exhausted.
They collected their belongings and boarded the waiting bus.
The familiar road toward Repino was almost silent.
Nobody argued about assists anymore.
Nobody replayed goals.
Even Walker was asleep.
Francesco glanced at him.
Henderson noticed.
"Miracles happen."
Francesco smiled.
The bus continued through the late-night streets.
Eventually, ForRestMix Club Sport & Relax Resort appeared ahead.
The familiar building lights glowed against the darkness.
Staff members greeted them quietly.
"Welcome back."
"Thank you."
"Good work."
The players disappeared toward their rooms.
Francesco entered his room, placed his belongings down, changed quickly, and collapsed onto the bed.
There was no reflection this time.
No replaying every moment.
He was asleep within minutes.
Then the following morning was different.
There was no alarm.
No meeting.
No tactical board.
No training kit waiting.
Southgate had given the entire squad a full day off.
No football.
No scheduled work.
Just recovery.
Players wandered around the resort in casual clothes.
Some used the recovery facilities.
Others spent time in the common areas.
Breakfast became a long, relaxed affair.
Francesco sat with Kane, Rooney and Henderson.
Kane stirred his coffee.
"This is nice."
Francesco looked at him.
"What?"
"Not having to be somewhere in ten minutes."
Rooney laughed.
"You'll get used to it."
"We won't."
Henderson smiled.
"Enjoy it while it lasts."
The rest of the day passed slowly.
Players talked.
Laughed.
Ate leisurely meals.
Some watched films.
Others relaxed in the resort facilities.
There was something almost strange about seeing professional footballers simply behaving like ordinary friends.
No tactical discussions.
No formations.
No video analysis.
Just conversations about music, families, holidays, food and life outside football.
Later, several of them gathered in a common room where a television was showing World Cup coverage.
Francesco sat down beside Kane.
The screen showed highlights from matches around the tournament.
Then the presenter moved toward the developing knockout-stage picture.
"Several nations have already secured their places in the next round…"
A graphic appeared.
France.
Spain.
Argentina.
Portugal.
And several others.
Kane leaned forward.
"It's getting serious now."
Rooney nodded.
"Very."
Francesco watched the bracket forming.
Names appeared.
Potential paths.
Possible opponents.
Nothing was confirmed completely yet, but the shape of the tournament was beginning to emerge.
Henderson looked at the screen.
"Could get interesting."
"Could get horrible," Rooney replied.
Everyone laughed.
The presenter continued.
"The group stage is beginning to reveal the major contenders…"
Then came a discussion about the strongest teams.
Former players and analysts debated.
Who looked strongest?
Who had the best squad?
Who had the greatest chance of lifting the trophy?
A graphic appeared.
POWER RANKINGS
The pundits began listing their favourites.
France.
England.
Argentina.
Then the other major contenders.
The analyst explained why France were currently considered the strongest candidate.
Their depth.
Their physicality.
Their individual talent.
Their balance.
Then England appeared in second.
The studio discussed their victories.
Three-nil against Belgium.
Five-nil against Panama.
Eight goals scored.
None conceded.
The conversation shifted toward England's structure.
Their defensive organisation.
Their midfield balance.
Their attacking options.
Their substitutes.
Their experience.
And then Francesco's performances.
One analyst smiled.
"Francesco has been one of the stories of the tournament so far."
Francesco immediately looked uncomfortable.
Kane noticed.
"Oh, here we go."
Francesco laughed.
"Don't."
The pundit continued.
"Two matches, two goals, leadership responsibilities, and a maturity that belies his age."
Rooney looked at him.
"You're famous now."
"Please stop."
Henderson laughed.
"Second favourite."
Francesco shook his head.
"After two games."
Kane nodded.
"That's football."
Francesco looked back at the television.
The praise was flattering.
Of course it was.
But he couldn't forget Southgate's words.
The tournament isn't finished.
He remembered the manager saying it on the bus.
He remembered the training ground.
He remembered how quickly Belgium had changed the match after Hazard and De Bruyne entered.
He remembered how easily a game could turn.
Francesco leaned back.
"It's a bit early for all this."
Kane looked at him.
"What?"
"Talking about favourites."
Rooney smiled.
"That's what pundits do."
"I know."
Francesco looked at the screen.
"They can say whatever they want."
He paused.
"We still have to play."
Henderson nodded.
"Exactly."
The television continued.
France remained number one.
England number two.
Argentina number three.
Then came the other major contenders.
The analysts continued debating.
Who would collapse?
Who would surprise everyone?
Who had the depth to survive the knockout rounds?
The players listened, sometimes laughing, sometimes disagreeing.
But there was no arrogance in the room.
If anything, the growing attention reminded them of how quickly expectations could change.
Two matches ago, England had been preparing for Belgium.
Now people were talking about them as potential World Cup winners.
Francesco found that almost amusing.
The tournament had a strange way of accelerating everything.
One victory could change the mood of a nation.
Two could change expectations.
But one defeat could change everything again.
Outside, the resort remained peaceful.
The afternoon light moved slowly across the windows.
For once, nobody was rushing anywhere.
No bus waited outside.
No training session was scheduled.
No opponent needed to be studied.
Francesco looked around the room.
Kane was still watching television.
Rooney was joking with Henderson.
Walker had fallen asleep on one of the chairs.
Rashford was scrolling through his phone.
Sterling was laughing at something someone had said.
It felt normal.
And that was perhaps the most valuable part of the day.
They were together.
Relaxed.
Connected.
The World Cup would eventually demand everything from them.
But today, they could simply enjoy being teammates.
Francesco looked once more at the television.
The knockout bracket continued taking shape.
France.
Spain.
Argentina.
Portugal.
England.
So many possibilities.
So many difficult matches ahead.
He smiled quietly.
England had reached the knockout stage.
They had done what they needed to do.
But the real challenge was waiting now.
The easy part was over.
From this point forward, every match would matter even more.
And somewhere beyond the peaceful walls of the resort, the World Cup was already moving toward the stage where one mistake could send a team home.
Francesco leaned back into his chair.
Kane glanced over.
"You thinking about football again?"
Francesco smiled.
"Maybe."
"Rest day."
"I know."
Rooney pointed at him.
"Leave it until tomorrow."
Francesco laughed.
"Fair enough."
He turned his attention back to the television.
And for one rare, quiet day in Repino, that was enough.
Then the following morning at ForRestMix Club Sport & Relax Resort began with a sound that had become strangely familiar to the England players.
The quiet knock on doors.
The soft movement of staff through the corridors.
The occasional sound of boots being carried toward the lifts.
The rest day was over.
Football had returned.
Francesco woke before his alarm.
For a few seconds, he remained still, staring at the ceiling.
Yesterday had felt almost unreal.
No training.
No meetings.
No tactical instructions.
Just food, laughter, television and time with his teammates.
But that freedom belonged to yesterday.
Today, there was another opponent waiting.
Tunisia.
Francesco finally sat up.
He pulled on his England training clothes, grabbed his belongings and headed downstairs.
The dining area was already beginning to fill.
Kane was sitting with Henderson, drinking coffee.
Rooney was beside them, scrolling through his phone.
Lingard was laughing at something Sterling had shown him.
Walker appeared a few minutes later, carrying a plate.
Henderson looked at him.
"Here we go again."
Walker frowned.
"What?"
"That plate."
Walker looked down.
"Breakfast."
"That's enough food for three people."
Walker shrugged.
"I'm hungry."
Francesco sat down.
"You never change."
Walker pointed his fork at him.
"Consistency is important."
Rooney laughed.
"Apparently."
The conversation remained relaxed, but something had changed.
Everyone knew the routine was beginning again.
Another match.
Another preparation cycle.
Another chance to represent England.
After breakfast, the squad gathered outside.
The buses were waiting.
The players climbed aboard, and soon the familiar journey toward Spartak Stadium began.
Francesco sat near the window.
Saint Petersburg moved past outside.
The streets were busy with World Cup activity.
Flags hung from buildings.
Supporters walked toward transport stations.
People wearing different national shirts moved through the city.
Francesco watched quietly.
Only a few days ago, England had arrived in the city after defeating Panama.
Now they were preparing for Tunisia.
The tournament seemed to move faster every day.
One match ended.
Another opponent appeared.
One city became another.
One celebration became another training session.
He leaned back.
There was no point trying to slow it down.
The only thing they could do was keep moving with it.
When the bus reached Spartak Stadium, the atmosphere changed almost immediately.
The laughter became quieter.
Players stepped onto the grass and began stretching.
The coaching staff were already preparing the session.
Cones had been arranged.
Mannequins stood across the pitch.
Small goals waited at either end.
A large tactical board had been placed beside the training area.
Southgate gathered the squad.
The players formed a loose circle around him.
He looked at them.
"Yesterday was a good day off."
A few smiles appeared.
"I hope you enjoyed it."
Walker raised his hand.
"I did."
Southgate laughed.
"Good."
Then his expression became more serious.
"Now we're back to work."
The players nodded.
"Belgium and Panama are behind us," Southgate continued. "We've qualified for the knockout stage. That's an important achievement."
He paused.
"But Tunisia still matters."
The group became attentive.
"We have objectives in this group. We have standards to maintain. And, perhaps most importantly, we have a squad that needs to be ready."
Southgate looked across the players.
Then came the announcement.
"We're going to rotate heavily."
Several players exchanged glances.
Southgate continued.
"The goalkeeper position will remain unchanged."
Pickford looked up.
"You'll start."
Pickford nodded.
"But there will be significant changes elsewhere."
A few senior players immediately smiled.
Walker leaned toward Kane.
"Finally."
Kane whispered back.
"Don't celebrate yet."
Southgate noticed them.
"You two want to share something?"
Walker straightened.
"No, boss."
"Good."
The group laughed.
Southgate continued.
"Some players have carried heavy minutes over the first two matches. Some players haven't had the opportunity they deserve."
He looked toward the less-used members of the squad.
"This is your opportunity."
The mood shifted.
Several players who had been sitting quietly suddenly looked more alert.
Southgate's voice became firmer.
"But understand this."
He pointed toward the badge on his chest.
"Rotation does not mean reduced ambition."
Nobody spoke.
"If you wear this shirt against Tunisia, you play with the same professionalism, intensity, discipline and hunger that we've shown against Belgium and Panama."
He paused.
"I don't want anyone thinking this is a lesser match."
Francesco nodded.
That message was important.
Qualification had changed their circumstances.
It had not changed their responsibility.
Southgate looked toward the coaching staff.
"Let's work."
The first session began with passing circulation.
The ball moved quickly between groups.
Henderson worked with a combination of regular starters and players who had seen fewer minutes.
Alli shifted between positions.
Lingard dropped deeper.
Francesco received wide and immediately looked inside.
The combinations were different.
That was intentional.
Southgate wanted to discover which partnerships could work under tournament pressure.
"Again," he called.
The ball moved.
"Quicker."
Another sequence.
"Good."
Then the session changed.
Attacking patterns.
Francesco moved between the left wing and an inside position.
Kane was rotated out of one group while another forward took his place.
Sterling worked with Rashford.
Vardy practiced movements against a compact defensive line.
Crosses came from both sides.
Cutbacks followed.
Then finishing.
One player after another attacked the penalty area.
The coaches corrected small details.
"Don't arrive too early."
"Open your body."
"Check your shoulder."
"Make the run before the pass."
Everything mattered.
After the attacking work came defensive transitions.
The instructions were simple.
Lose the ball.
React immediately.
Recover your shape.
Prevent the counterattack.
Tunisia were studied carefully because their danger would come in different ways.
Belgium had possessed elite individual attackers.
Panama had tested England's patience with a compact shape.
Tunisia could offer another problem altogether.
Their defensive organisation.
Their midfield movement.
Their ability to counter quickly.
Their pressing.
Their set pieces.
All of it appeared during the video sessions.
That afternoon, the players sat inside the analysis room while clips played across the screen.
Southgate stopped one sequence.
"Look here."
The image froze.
A Tunisian midfielder was moving toward the ball while another player made a run beyond him.
"This is the sort of movement we need to recognise early."
Another clip.
"Here."
The defence shifted.
Southgate paused again.
"If we lose the ball in this area, they can attack quickly."
Henderson nodded.
"So the reaction has to be immediate."
"Exactly."
Francesco took notes.
He might not start.
He might not even play.
But he wanted to be ready.
There was no room for assuming anything.
Later, while the players were leaving the analysis room, a younger teammate walked beside Francesco.
"Do you think I'll get on?"
Francesco glanced at him.
"I don't know."
The player smiled nervously.
"That's not very helpful."
Francesco laughed.
"I mean it honestly. None of us know until the team sheet comes out."
The player nodded.
Francesco continued.
"But if you do get the opportunity, don't treat it like a friendly."
"I won't."
"It could be one of the biggest games of your life."
The younger player looked at him.
Francesco smiled.
"You only get so many chances to play at a World Cup."
That seemed to settle something inside him.
"Thanks."
"Go and enjoy it."
The next few days developed their own rhythm.
Breakfast.
Training.
Video analysis.
Recovery.
Meals.
Rest.
Then another session.
Southgate kept experimenting.
One morning, Stones partnered a different centre-back.
Another session saw Maguire work with another combination.
The midfield changed repeatedly.
The wide positions rotated.
Different forwards played together.
Even the set-piece groups changed.
Francesco watched all of it.
Sometimes he trained with the likely starting group.
Sometimes Southgate moved him into another combination.
The uncertainty was deliberate.
Everyone needed to remain ready.
The media noticed too.
Reports began appearing about England's expected rotation.
Would Francesco start?
Would Kane be rested?
Would Rooney finally receive a full match?
Who would replace the regular starters?
The questions followed the squad everywhere.
But inside the camp, nobody seemed particularly concerned with speculation.
They had a job.
They trained.
They recovered.
They ate together.
They laughed together.
And then they trained again.
One afternoon, Francesco sat with Kane and Rooney after recovery.
Kane looked at him.
"So."
Francesco glanced over.
"So?"
"You starting?"
Francesco laughed.
"Ask Gareth."
Rooney smiled.
"That's the safest answer."
Kane nodded.
"Very diplomatic."
Francesco leaned back.
"I'll play if he wants me to."
Rooney looked toward the training pitch.
"That's the right attitude."
Francesco nodded.
"It doesn't matter who starts. We need everyone ready."
The days continued.
The atmosphere remained serious without becoming tense.
England had already achieved their first objective.
But Southgate wanted something more.
Momentum.
Confidence.
Squad depth.
And competition for places.
Eventually, the travel day arrived.
The squad gathered at the hotel early.
Bags were loaded.
Equipment cases disappeared into the vehicles.
The players boarded the bus.
Francesco took his seat by the window.
Saint Petersburg once again moved past outside.
He looked at the streets.
It was strange how quickly the city had become familiar.
Yet they were leaving again.
The World Cup didn't wait for anyone.
Their flight to Volgograd awaited.
At the airport, the squad moved through the familiar routine.
Security.
Boarding.
Equipment.
Then the aircraft doors closed.
The players settled into their seats.
Some immediately put on headphones.
Others watched films.
Kane and Henderson spoke quietly about Tunisia.
Rooney read through something on his phone.
Walker was asleep before the aircraft had even reached cruising altitude.
Francesco looked across the aisle.
He smiled.
"Already?"
Henderson glanced over.
"He's conserving energy."
"For what?"
"Breakfast tomorrow."
Francesco laughed.
The flight continued peacefully.
By the time they landed in Volgograd, several players were asleep.
The aircraft doors opened.
Warm air met them as they stepped outside.
The squad collected their luggage and equipment before climbing aboard the waiting England bus.
Volgograd was alive with World Cup activity.
Flags lined parts of the roads.
Supporters gathered around public areas.
Security personnel stood near major routes.
Everywhere they looked, there were reminders that the world's biggest football tournament was taking place.
Francesco watched from the window.
Different city.
Different atmosphere.
Same England shirt.
The bus eventually reached the hotel.
Staff welcomed them inside.
The players received their room assignments.
Southgate and the coaching staff distributed the schedule.
Training would begin again soon.
There would be little opportunity to waste time.
The next morning, England arrived at the FC Rotor Volgograd training ground.
The environment felt different immediately.
New grass.
New surroundings.
New routines.
The players took a few minutes to familiarise themselves with the pitch before the coaching staff called them together.
Southgate stood with his hands behind his back.
"Same standards."
He looked around.
"We're not here for a holiday."
A few players smiled.
"Tunisia deserve our respect."
The session began.
The focus was now almost entirely match-specific.
England worked against a compact defensive shape.
The attackers moved the ball around the edge of the box.
One player dropped.
Another ran beyond.
A third moved across.
The coaches repeatedly demanded quick decisions.
"Don't wait for the opening."
"Create it."
Francesco received the ball on the left.
He drove inside.
A defender stepped toward him.
He released the ball early.
The next player continued the movement.
"Good," Southgate called.
Then came transition work.
A whistle.
Possession lost.
Everyone reacted.
The defensive unit recovered.
Henderson sprinted back.
The full-backs narrowed.
The centre-backs communicated.
Another whistle.
Reset.
Again.
Set pieces followed.
Corners.
Free kicks.
Defensive assignments.
Then finishing.
The players expected to receive opportunities were being pushed especially hard.
Southgate wanted no uncertainty when matchday arrived.
Pickford remained the one constant.
He worked with the defenders as different combinations formed ahead of him.
At one point, Francesco stood near the sideline with Henderson.
Henderson watched another tactical sequence.
"Different team every day."
Francesco smiled.
"That's the idea."
"Still think you'll start?"
Francesco shrugged.
"I don't know."
Henderson looked at him.
"You'd be disappointed?"
"Of course."
He smiled.
"But if someone else starts and plays well, that's good for us."
Henderson nodded.
"That's the answer."
The session continued.
Small-sided games came next.
The intensity increased.
Players fought for every ball.
Rashford challenged Walker.
Vardy pressed Stones.
Lingard found space between two defenders.
Francesco intercepted a pass and immediately started a counterattack.
"Good!" Southgate shouted.
The final whistle eventually came.
Everyone slowed.
Hands went to hips.
Players drank water.
The coaching staff gathered their equipment.
Francesco looked across the pitch.
The sun was beginning to fall.
The training-ground lights flickered on one by one.
He stood there for a moment, watching teammates walk toward the dressing area.
There was something exciting about the uncertainty.
Southgate had already told them there would be changes.
But how many?
Who would start?
Who would sit?
Who would receive their first World Cup minutes?
Nobody knew yet.
And perhaps that was exactly how Southgate wanted it.
The players left the pitch together.
Kane walked beside Rooney.
Walker was already joking again.
Lingard and Sterling were discussing something behind them.
Henderson spoke with the coaches.
Francesco followed slightly behind.
He looked back once.
The training ground lights reflected across the emptying pitch.
Belgium.
Panama.
Six points.
Qualification secured.
Now Tunisia.
The final group match offered England another opportunity.
To maintain momentum.
To test their depth.
To give players valuable World Cup minutes.
And perhaps to prove that the strength of this England team wasn't limited to the eleven names printed on a team sheet.
__________________________________________________
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: 6
Goal: 6
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