The King Of Arsenal

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And for the first time in fifty-two years, England could look at the World Cup and know that it truly belonged to them again.

The reception inside Buckingham Palace continued for a little while longer.

There were more photographs.

More handshakes.

More congratulations.

More brief conversations between the players and members of the Royal Family.

But eventually, the FA officials began quietly guiding the delegation toward the exit.

The players knew what came next.

London was waiting.

Not a small reception.

Not another private gathering.

A homecoming.

A celebration for an entire country.

Francesco remained near the centre of the group, the World Cup still in his hands.

He glanced around the room one final time.

The palace.

The Queen.

The Royal Family.

His teammates.

Southgate.

The coaching staff.

It had been an extraordinary morning.

Yet somehow, he suspected the most overwhelming part of the day had not even begun.

Kane walked alongside him as they left the reception room.

"You ready?"

Francesco smiled.

"For what?"

Kane gestured toward the palace doors.

"London."

Francesco laughed softly.

"I don't think anyone can be ready for that."

Kane grinned.

"Probably not."

The squad made their way outside.

The summer air greeted them again.

And waiting beyond the palace grounds was something very different from the formal vehicles that had brought them there.

An open-top victory bus stood ready.

England flags covered its sides.

The familiar red-and-white colours were impossible to miss.

FA personnel were already positioned around it, while security staff prepared the route.

The players stopped for a moment.

Sterling looked up at the upper deck.

"That's ours?"

Rooney laughed.

"Looks like it."

Pickford immediately pointed upward.

"I'm going up there."

Maguire shook his head.

"You'll fall over."

"I won't."

"You probably will."

The laughter began again.

Southgate smiled as he watched them.

"Come on, lads."

The players climbed aboard.

Francesco carried the World Cup carefully up the stairs.

When he reached the upper deck, he stepped toward the front.

Kane followed.

Henderson and Rooney stood nearby, while Sterling, Alli, Pickford, Maguire, Stones, Walker, Rose, Trippier and the rest of the squad spread themselves along the open platform.

Southgate and members of the coaching staff joined them.

The bus began to move.

At first, the streets around Buckingham Palace were relatively controlled.

Then they turned onto the main route.

Francesco's eyes widened.

People.

Everywhere.

The pavements were packed.

Balconies were full.

Windows were open.

Flags hung from buildings.

England shirts seemed to cover entire streets.

Children sat on their parents' shoulders.

Older supporters waved scarves above their heads.

Families stood together behind barriers.

Some people had brought enormous banners.

Others held handwritten signs.

And almost everyone was smiling.

Then someone recognized the World Cup.

The reaction travelled through the crowd like a wave.

A cheer began.

Then another.

Then thousands of voices joined.

"IT'S COMING HOME!"

Francesco lifted the trophy.

The noise doubled.

Kane laughed beside him.

"Listen to them!"

Francesco could barely hear him.

He raised the World Cup higher.

The crowd erupted.

People jumped.

Flags swung through the air.

Phones were held above heads.

Cameras flashed from every direction.

Francesco looked down at the people closest to the bus.

Some were crying.

Some were laughing.

Some simply stood there with both hands over their mouths.

He waved.

The supporters waved back.

A little boy wearing an England shirt caught Francesco's eye.

The boy was sitting on his father's shoulders, holding a tiny plastic World Cup above his head.

Francesco pointed toward him.

The boy's face lit up.

Francesco laughed.

Kane saw it.

"Look at that."

Francesco nodded.

"Yeah."

The bus continued through London.

The crowds became larger.

The further they travelled, the more difficult it became to see the road.

People filled every available space.

Supporters leaned from windows.

Flags stretched across streets.

Banners hung from bridges.

Music played somewhere in the distance.

And everywhere the players looked, they saw England.

Red.

White.

Three Lions.

Scarves.

Shirts.

Faces.

Smiles.

The players responded in every way they could.

Henderson waved continuously.

Rooney pointed toward supporters he recognized.

Sterling danced again, much to Alli's amusement.

Pickford raised his Golden Glove.

Maguire applauded the crowd.

Stones embraced Walker.

Rose and Trippier stood together, laughing as another enormous cheer rolled down the street.

Kane lifted his medal.

The crowd responded.

Francesco raised the World Cup again.

Another roar.

It seemed almost impossible that the noise could become louder.

Somehow, it always did.

At one point, the bus slowed almost to a crawl.

Francesco looked ahead.

The street was completely packed.

He could see thousands upon thousands of people stretching into the distance.

He took a breath.

Fifty-two years.

That number suddenly felt different.

It wasn't just something they had talked about after the final.

It wasn't a statistic.

It was every supporter standing in front of him.

Every parent who had told their children stories about 1966.

Every fan who had grown up watching England fall short.

Every generation that had waited.

And now they were here.

Francesco looked at Kane.

Kane was staring at the crowd too.

"You realize how many people are out here?"

Francesco smiled.

"I don't think I can count that high."

Henderson overheard them.

"Just enjoy it."

Francesco nodded.

He did.

He waved until his arm became tired.

Then he held the World Cup against his chest.

A few moments later, another chant started.

"FRANCESCO! FRANCESCO! FRANCESCO!"

He froze for half a second.

Then laughed.

The chant grew.

Kane put an arm around him.

"That's you."

Francesco shook his head.

"They're all mad."

Rooney laughed.

"They're not stopping."

Francesco raised the trophy toward them.

The response was deafening.

He looked over his shoulder at his teammates.

They were all smiling.

Southgate stood a short distance away, watching the scene with an expression that mixed pride and disbelief.

The manager caught Francesco's eye.

He simply nodded.

Francesco nodded back.

No speech was needed.

They understood what this meant.

The bus continued toward Trafalgar Square.

The closer they came, the more enormous the celebration became.

Eventually the familiar shape of the square appeared ahead.

And Francesco could barely believe what he was seeing.

Trafalgar Square had been transformed.

A huge purpose-built stage stood at the centre.

Massive screens had been erected around it.

England flags stretched across the surrounding areas.

Scarves covered railings.

Music played through enormous speakers.

And the square itself was filled with people.

Thousands upon thousands.

Perhaps even more.

A sea of red and white stretched as far as Francesco could see.

The moment the crowd spotted the World Cup approaching, the entire square seemed to explode.

The players stood.

Francesco lifted the trophy.

The reaction was immediate.

"ENGLAND!"

"IT'S COMING HOME!"

"FRANCESCO!"

The bus came to a stop.

For a moment, nobody moved.

They simply looked.

Kane shook his head.

"This is unbelievable."

Henderson smiled.

"Look at them."

Francesco held the trophy tightly.

"I don't even know what to say."

Rooney laughed.

"You don't have to say anything yet."

The players began stepping down.

Southgate followed with the coaching staff.

The players walked toward the stage, waving as they went.

Francesco remained near the centre, carrying the World Cup.

Every few steps, another supporter called his name.

He turned and waved.

Some fans reached toward the barriers.

Others held photographs of the final.

Children waved tiny England flags.

Older supporters stood with tears in their eyes.

The players climbed onto the stage.

The cheering became almost overwhelming.

Kane hugged Henderson.

Rooney embraced Sterling.

Pickford lifted his Golden Glove.

Maguire put an arm around Stones.

Alli laughed as another camera caught him.

Southgate stood among them, looking around at the crowd.

Francesco stepped onto the stage last among the main group.

The World Cup remained in his hands.

The crowd saw it.

The roar that followed seemed to shake the entire square.

Francesco looked out.

For a moment, he couldn't speak.

This wasn't Luzhniki.

This wasn't Moscow.

This wasn't a Russian stadium filled with England supporters.

This was London.

Home.

He turned toward his teammates.

Kane was smiling.

Henderson nodded.

Rooney raised a fist.

Sterling was already waving to the crowd.

Francesco smiled.

Then the host stepped forward.

The microphone was raised.

The crowd gradually began to settle, although the excitement never disappeared completely.

"Ladies and gentlemen…"

A roar interrupted him.

He laughed.

"All right. I think we've established that you're happy to see them."

The crowd cheered again.

The host waited.

Then continued.

"Today, London welcomes home the England national team."

Another enormous cheer.

"Your world champions."

The players applauded.

The host turned toward the squad.

"Just days ago, these players stood inside Luzhniki Stadium in Russia and defeated Croatia four goals to two in the World Cup final."

The crowd erupted.

"After fifty-two years of waiting since 1966, England finally have the World Cup again."

Francesco looked down at the trophy.

The host continued.

"But this wasn't simply one match. It was a journey. A tournament filled with pressure, difficult moments, belief, resilience and extraordinary football."

He gestured toward the players.

"And now, they have brought the trophy home."

The crowd began chanting again.

"It's coming home!"

The host smiled.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the man who guided them through it all."

He turned.

"Gareth Southgate."

Southgate stepped forward.

The applause was enormous.

He waited until the noise began to settle.

Then he looked across Trafalgar Square.

His expression changed.

For a few seconds, he simply took it all in.

"This is quite something."

The crowd laughed.

Southgate smiled.

"I don't think any of us will ever forget this."

He looked toward his players.

"I want to start by talking about these men."

The squad applauded.

"They gave everything."

He spoke about the hours of training.

The preparation.

The difficult matches.

The moments when things hadn't gone their way.

He spoke about the coaching staff who had worked behind the scenes.

The medical team.

The analysts.

The support staff.

The families who had remained beside the players throughout the tournament.

Then he looked toward the crowd.

"And I have to talk about you."

The supporters roared.

"You travelled to Russia. You sang. You believed. You stayed with us through every difficult moment."

He paused.

"You made the players feel that they were never alone."

Another cheer.

Southgate's voice became quieter.

"This isn't my trophy."

He looked at the players.

"It isn't one player's trophy."

Then toward the supporters.

"It belongs to all of you."

The crowd erupted.

Southgate smiled.

"We won it together."

He stepped back.

The applause lasted for several seconds.

The host returned to the microphone.

"Thank you, Gareth."

Then he looked toward the players.

"And now, we're going to hear from the men who brought the World Cup home."

Kane stepped forward first.

The crowd immediately began chanting.

"Harry! Harry! Harry!"

Kane laughed.

"Thank you."

He looked around.

"I don't really know how to describe this."

The crowd listened.

"We dreamed about this. Every player dreams about winning the World Cup."

He looked toward the trophy.

"And now we're standing here with it."

The crowd cheered.

Kane thanked the supporters.

Then he grinned.

"And I'll tell you one thing."

The crowd waited.

"I'm not giving Francesco the trophy back anytime soon."

Everyone laughed.

Francesco shook his head.

Kane stepped away, still laughing.

Henderson was next.

He thanked the supporters and the staff.

His voice became emotional when he spoke about the families who had supported them.

"These boys have become brothers."

He looked back toward the squad.

"And that's why we're standing here."

Rooney followed.

He began seriously.

Then he looked at the crowd.

"I'm going to be honest. I thought I'd seen everything in football."

Laughter.

"But apparently I hadn't."

He pointed toward Francesco.

"Three goals in a World Cup final."

The crowd erupted.

Francesco covered his face.

Rooney laughed.

"I'm still trying to understand it."

Sterling took the microphone next.

He immediately got the crowd involved.

"Are you ready?"

The response was deafening.

He laughed.

"I think you can do better than that!"

The crowd shouted louder.

Sterling grinned.

"That's more like it."

He led them into the chant.

"It's coming home!"

Thousands of voices answered.

Alli followed and kept his speech shorter.

"Honestly, this is unbelievable."

He looked around.

"Thank you for being with us."

Then he added with a grin:

"And yes, we're probably going to be singing that song for the rest of our lives."

The crowd laughed.

Pickford stepped forward with his Golden Glove.

He raised it.

The supporters cheered.

"Thank you," he said. "To everyone who believed in us."

Then he smiled.

"And to everyone who kept telling me to catch the ball."

Laughter spread through the square.

"I tried."

Maguire followed.

His speech was simple.

He talked about the defenders.

The work they had done.

The way the entire team had fought together.

Stones spoke next, thanking the supporters and coaching staff.

Walker followed.

Rose.

Trippier.

Each had their own moment.

Some were confident.

Some were emotional.

Some laughed nervously.

Others simply looked out over the crowd as though they were trying to memorize the sight.

Every player was met with applause.

Every voice mattered.

The host returned to the microphone.

He looked toward the remaining players.

Then toward Francesco.

Francesco had stayed slightly behind the others throughout the speeches.

The World Cup remained against his chest.

His gold medal hung around his neck.

The captain's armband was still around his arm.

He had listened to Kane.

Henderson.

Rooney.

Sterling.

Alli.

Pickford.

Maguire.

Stones.

Walker.

Rose.

Trippier.

He had smiled at their jokes.

Clapped when they spoke.

Shared their emotions.

But now he could feel the moment approaching.

The host smiled.

"And finally…"

The crowd immediately began cheering.

The host raised his voice.

"The captain."

The reaction was enormous.

"FRANCESCO! FRANCESCO! FRANCESCO!"

Francesco looked down.

He took a breath.

The host continued.

"The young man who led England in Russia."

The crowd grew louder.

"The player who scored a hat-trick in the World Cup final."

Another roar.

"The Golden Boot winner."

Cheers.

"The Golden Ball winner."

More cheers.

"The Young Player Award winner."

The noise rose again.

"And the Man of the Match."

The square seemed to explode.

"And, most importantly…"

The host smiled.

"Your World Cup-winning captain."

Francesco looked behind him.

His teammates were applauding.

Southgate smiled.

Henderson nodded.

Kane pointed toward the microphone.

"Go on."

Francesco laughed nervously.

He tightened his grip around the trophy.

Then he stepped forward.

The crowd continued chanting his name.

"FRANCESCO!"

He reached the microphone.

Stopped.

Looked out.

And finally saw the full scale of Trafalgar Square.

Thousands upon thousands of supporters.

England flags.

Scarves.

Children.

Families.

Older fans.

People crying.

People laughing.

People singing.

An entire country gathered together.

Behind him stood his teammates.

His brothers.

Southgate.

The coaching staff.

The people who had shared every difficult day of the journey.

In his hands was the World Cup.

The same trophy he had carried from Russia.

The same trophy he had refused to leave beside his bed.

The same trophy he had lifted at Luzhniki.

Now it was here.

In London.

On English soil.

Francesco looked at it for a moment.

Then he looked back at the crowd.

The noise gradually began to fall.

Not completely.

There were still thousands of voices murmuring.

But the chant faded.

The supporters wanted to hear him.

Francesco placed one hand on the microphone.

He took a slow breath.

His eyes moved across the crowd one more time.

He saw Kane.

Henderson.

Rooney.

Sterling.

Alli.

Pickford.

Maguire.

Stones.

Walker.

Rose.

Trippier.

Southgate.

Then he looked back toward the sea of England supporters.

Fifty-two years of waiting behind him.

An entire nation in front of him.

Francesco leaned slightly toward the microphone.

He smiled.

Then Francesco leaned slightly toward the microphone.

For a second, nothing came out.

Not because he had forgotten what he wanted to say.

He had thought about this moment on the flight home.

In the hotel.

On the bus.

Even standing at the top of the aircraft stairs with the World Cup above his head.

But none of those thoughts had prepared him for this.

Trafalgar Square was enormous.

And it was full.

Not just full.

Overflowing.

Thousands upon thousands of people were standing shoulder to shoulder, packed into every visible space, with England flags moving above the crowd like waves.

The sound of his name was still echoing around the square.

Francesco looked across the stage.

Then he turned toward his teammates.

His voice was quiet when he finally spoke.

"First of all…"

The crowd settled.

"I want to talk about these lads."

He gestured behind him.

The players immediately smiled.

Kane folded his arms.

Henderson nodded.

Rooney grinned.

Sterling leaned against Alli.

Pickford raised an eyebrow as though waiting to hear what his captain was going to say.

Francesco looked at each of them.

"Kane. Hendo. Wayne. Raheem. Dele. Jordan. Harry. John. Kyle. Danny. Kieran…"

He paused.

"And every single one of you."

The players listened.

"You gave everything for this."

The crowd applauded.

Francesco continued.

"There were days in Russia when things weren't easy. There were moments when we were tired. Moments when we were under pressure. Moments when we had to keep going when it would've been easier to stop."

He looked at his teammates again.

"And every time, somebody stepped up."

He pointed toward Kane.

"Harry was there."

Then Henderson.

"Hendo was there."

His eyes moved toward Rooney.

"Wayne was there."

Then Sterling, Alli, Pickford and the rest.

"All of you were there."

The players applauded one another.

Francesco smiled.

"I've had people tell me about the three goals."

A huge cheer rose from the square.

Francesco laughed softly.

"Believe me, I've heard about them enough over the last two days."

The players laughed.

"But those goals don't happen without these people."

He placed his free hand against his chest.

"They don't happen without the passes. The tackles. The saves. The runs. The blocks. The training. The arguments. The jokes. The people pushing each other every single day."

He shook his head.

"This was never one person's World Cup."

His voice became firmer.

"This was ours."

The crowd responded immediately.

Francesco looked at the players.

"You made this possible."

Kane nodded at him.

Henderson applauded.

Rooney gave him a small salute.

Francesco smiled before turning toward Gareth Southgate.

"And then there's the boss."

The crowd applauded loudly.

Southgate smiled and shook his head.

Francesco laughed.

"Gareth, thank you."

Southgate nodded.

"Thank you for believing in us."

Francesco's voice became more sincere.

"For trusting us. For preparing us. For keeping us calm when everything around us was getting louder."

He looked toward the coaching staff.

"And thank you to everyone standing behind him."

He gestured toward the coaches.

"The analysts. The medical team. The fitness staff. The kit staff. Everyone who was up before us and still working after we'd gone to bed."

Several members of the support staff smiled.

"You don't always see those people on television."

Francesco looked toward the crowd.

"But we saw them."

He nodded.

"We knew what they were doing."

His eyes returned to Southgate.

"They gave us everything."

Southgate applauded.

"So thank you."

The crowd joined in.

For several seconds, Trafalgar Square was filled with applause for the people who had helped England reach this point.

Francesco waited.

Then he turned away from the stage.

Toward the supporters.

And the expression on his face changed.

The smile remained.

But his eyes had become noticeably brighter.

He looked over the sea of England shirts and flags.

"I've got to talk about you now."

The reaction was immediate.

The crowd cheered.

Francesco waited until it settled.

"You've been incredible."

Another cheer.

"From the moment we left England, you were there."

He looked toward the flags.

"The songs."

He pointed toward the supporters.

"The flags."

Then toward the enormous banners.

"The messages."

He smiled.

"Everything."

His voice softened.

"Every time we looked into the stands and saw an England shirt, it mattered."

The crowd listened carefully.

"Every time we heard you singing, it mattered."

Francesco swallowed.

"And every time we were tired…"

He paused.

"We heard you."

The square became quieter.

"I remember looking into the stands during matches and seeing people believing in us."

He smiled faintly.

"And honestly…"

He laughed.

"It made me want to run a little harder."

The crowd laughed.

"Fight a little longer."

More applause.

"And do whatever I could to bring this thing home."

He lifted the World Cup slightly.

The supporters erupted.

Francesco lowered it again.

"This trophy belongs to you too."

The response was enormous.

"It belongs to the people who travelled to Russia."

He looked across the square.

"To the people who couldn't travel."

"To the people who watched at home."

"To the kids watching today who might one day wear this shirt."

He took a breath.

"And to everyone who waited."

That last sentence carried more weight.

Everyone knew what he meant.

Fifty-two years.

Francesco looked down briefly.

"Fifty-two years is a long time."

The crowd murmured.

"A really long time."

He smiled.

"I wasn't even here for most of it."

Laughter rolled through the square.

"But I know what it meant."

He looked toward the older supporters.

"I've heard the stories."

He nodded.

"I've heard about 1966. I've heard about the teams that came close. I've heard about the heartbreak."

Then his expression became more serious.

"And I know how much it means for everyone standing here today."

Francesco looked back toward the players.

Then his eyes stopped on Wayne Rooney.

A grin appeared.

"There is actually one person up here who I need to mention."

Rooney immediately pointed at himself.

"What?"

The crowd laughed.

Francesco shook his head.

"Wayne."

Rooney laughed.

"Here we go."

Francesco turned fully toward him.

"After winning the 2016 Euro…"

The crowd reacted.

Rooney's smile became slightly more thoughtful.

Francesco continued.

"We were all disappointed."

He looked back at the supporters.

"Really disappointed."

He paused.

"That Wayne was thinking about retiring from international football."

The crowd began murmuring.

Francesco looked at Rooney.

"I told him not to."

Rooney laughed and covered his face.

The crowd erupted.

Francesco laughed too.

"I told him he still had something to give England."

Rooney pointed toward him.

"He wouldn't leave me alone."

The players laughed.

Francesco nodded.

"I wouldn't."

Rooney shook his head.

"No."

Francesco smiled.

"And I'm very glad I didn't."

The crowd cheered.

"Because look at him now."

He gestured toward Rooney.

"World champion."

The reaction was enormous.

Rooney stood straighter.

He applauded Francesco.

The crowd began chanting his name.

"WAYNE! WAYNE! WAYNE!"

Rooney laughed, clearly trying to hide how emotional the moment had made him.

Francesco looked at him.

"I told you."

Rooney pointed back.

"You were right."

The crowd erupted again.

Rooney walked over and briefly embraced Francesco.

The two stood together for a moment.

It was more than a joke.

More than a story from a previous tournament.

There was history between them.

A disappointment they had shared.

A decision that had changed the path ahead.

And now they were standing together in Trafalgar Square as World Cup champions.

Rooney stepped back.

Francesco looked at the crowd again.

"That's what I mean."

His voice was quieter.

"We've been through disappointment."

He looked toward his teammates.

"We've been heartbroken."

Then back toward the supporters.

"But we didn't let it define us."

He paused.

"Because now…"

He smiled.

"We're standing here."

The crowd began cheering.

"With the biggest prize in football."

He lifted the World Cup slightly.

The cheering grew.

Francesco's eyes moved across Trafalgar Square one last time.

"I don't know what happens after today."

Laughter.

"I don't know how we're supposed to top this."

Kane shouted from behind him.

"You're going to have to try!"

Francesco laughed.

The crowd joined him.

"But I know one thing."

He tightened his grip around the trophy.

"We'll remember this forever."

The square was now almost completely silent again.

Francesco looked toward the supporters.

"Thank you for believing in us."

A pause.

"Thank you for staying with us."

Another pause.

"And thank you for giving us something worth fighting for."

His voice cracked slightly.

He took a breath.

"This is your trophy too."

He raised the World Cup.

"It's coming home."

The reaction was instantaneous.

Trafalgar Square exploded.

The crowd roared.

Flags flew into the air.

People jumped.

Scarves were waved above heads.

Thousands of voices joined together.

"IT'S COMING HOME!"

Francesco held the trophy higher.

"IT'S COMING HOME!"

The players behind him began singing.

Kane threw an arm around Henderson.

Rooney applauded.

Sterling was already shouting toward the crowd.

Pickford raised his Golden Glove.

Southgate stood back, smiling proudly as he watched his captain surrounded by his teammates.

Francesco lowered the trophy and stepped away from the microphone.

The host returned immediately.

He approached with a broad smile and shook Francesco's hand.

"Thank you, captain."

Francesco nodded.

The host turned toward the crowd.

"I think we can all agree that was worth waiting for."

The supporters roared.

Francesco laughed as he rejoined his teammates.

Kane immediately grabbed him.

"Well done."

Henderson embraced him next.

Rooney walked over with a grin.

"Thanks for reminding everyone about Euro 2016."

Francesco laughed.

"You're welcome."

Rooney shook his head.

"I knew you'd bring that up."

"You deserved it."

Rooney smiled.

"Fair enough."

Sterling suddenly shouted.

"COME ON!"

The music exploded from the speakers.

The players turned toward the crowd.

Sterling raised both arms.

"IT'S COMING HOME!"

The supporters answered.

"IT'S COMING HOME!"

Again.

"IT'S COMING HOME!"

The entire squad joined.

Francesco lifted the World Cup.

The square erupted once more.

Confetti burst across the stage area.

White and red pieces filled the air, drifting around the players and catching the summer light.

Alli laughed as some landed on his shoulders.

Maguire brushed confetti from Stones' hair.

Stones retaliated by throwing a handful back at him.

Walker laughed.

Rose and Trippier joined the chant.

Henderson pulled Rooney into another embrace.

Kane put his arm around Francesco.

For a moment, the captain simply stood there between them.

The trophy was still in his hands.

His medal was still around his neck.

Confetti was falling around him.

And thousands of England supporters were singing his name.

"FRANCESCO! FRANCESCO! FRANCESCO!"

He looked toward Kane.

Kane smiled.

"You better get used to that."

Francesco laughed.

"I don't think I ever will."

Pickford suddenly lifted his Golden Glove above his head.

The crowd reacted immediately.

He looked at Maguire.

"Still think I was terrified?"

Maguire laughed.

"Absolutely."

Pickford raised it higher.

"I'll remind you who made the saves."

Maguire shook his head.

"Go on, then."

Pickford laughed.

The players continued celebrating.

Photographers moved around the stage, capturing every moment.

Southgate stood slightly behind the squad, watching.

His eyes moved from one player to another.

Kane.

Henderson.

Rooney.

Sterling.

Alli.

Pickford.

Maguire.

Stones.

Walker.

Rose.

Trippier.

And finally Francesco.

The young captain was laughing with his teammates, still holding the trophy.

Southgate smiled.

He had seen the pressure.

The preparation.

The difficult moments.

The exhaustion.

He had seen these players grow together.

And now he was watching them celebrate with the people they had wanted to make proud.

The music grew louder.

Another England chant began somewhere in the crowd.

It spread through Trafalgar Square within seconds.

Players joined.

Then staff.

Then the entire square.

"IT'S COMING HOME!"

Francesco lifted the World Cup again.

The sound became deafening.

He looked out across London.

Flags stretched into the distance.

The square seemed endless.

There were children on shoulders.

Families embracing.

Older supporters crying openly.

Friends singing together.

People who had waited their entire lives to see England lift the World Cup on home soil.

Francesco held the trophy close for a moment.

Then he looked at his teammates.

They had all been part of it.

Every training session.

Every argument.

Every laugh.

Every difficult match.

Every moment when they had wondered whether they were good enough.

All of it had led here.

To this stage.

To this crowd.

To this day.

To the World Cup.

Kane leaned toward him.

"Worth it?"

Francesco looked at the trophy.

Then at the supporters.

Then back at Kane.

"Every second."

Kane smiled.

Henderson heard him.

"Even the training?"

Francesco laughed.

"Almost every second."

The players laughed.

Southgate shook his head.

The host stood nearby, watching the squad celebrate.

The official speeches were finished.

The formal part of the ceremony was disappearing beneath the noise.

What remained was something much simpler.

Players.

Families.

Supporters.

A trophy.

And a country celebrating together.

Francesco lifted the World Cup one final time.

The players gathered tightly around him.

Kane on one side.

Henderson on the other.

Rooney behind him.

Sterling and Alli shouting toward the crowd.

Pickford holding his Golden Glove.

Maguire and Stones laughing.

The rest of the squad pressed together.

Southgate and the coaching staff stood behind them.

The cameras captured the moment.

Another photograph.

Another memory.

Another image that would live long after the confetti had been cleared.

Francesco looked over the shoulders of his teammates.

The supporters were still singing.

The flags were still waving.

The chants were still rolling through the streets of London.

He smiled.

They had come home.

Not quietly.

Not unnoticed.

They had returned carrying the World Cup after fifty-two years of waiting.

And now, standing in the heart of London with the trophy raised above them, England's world champions were celebrating it with the people who had waited all those years to see this exact sight.

For once, nobody was thinking about what came next.

There was no next match.

No training session.

No tactical meeting.

No pressure.

Only celebration.

Only the sound of England singing.

And at the centre of it all stood Francesco, surrounded by his teammates, holding the World Cup while Trafalgar Square roared around him.

__________________________________________________

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, Champions League 2017/2018, and 2018 World Cup.

Season 17/18 stats:

Arsenal:

Match: 59

Goal: 76

Assist: 6

MOTM: 7

POTM: 0

England:

Match: 11

Goal: 14

Assist: 1

MOTM: 7

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