The King Of Arsenal

If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!

________________________________

(A/N: Also everyone I have a new novel named "From Couch To The Inquisitor", be sure to check it out and give some power stone)

...

For tonight, Francesco had Leah beside him, Cheddar at his feet, and a thousand memories of Santorini sitting safely in his phone.

Then the following morning began quietly at Francesco's mansion.

London was still waking.

The curtains in the bedroom were only partly open, allowing a thin line of pale morning light to fall across the floor. Outside, the residential complex was almost completely still. There were no cars moving along the road yet, no voices carrying through the neighborhood, and none of the usual noise that would eventually fill the city.

Francesco opened his eyes.

For a few seconds, he simply lay there.

Leah was still asleep beside him.

Cheddar was nowhere to be seen, which probably meant he had already found somewhere comfortable downstairs.

Francesco smiled faintly.

Then he looked toward the clock.

Early.

Earlier than he needed to be awake.

He could have gone back to sleep.

Part of him wanted to.

After a week of waking whenever he felt like it, eating breakfast without checking the time and spending entire afternoons doing absolutely nothing that could be described as training, getting up this early felt almost unnatural.

But there was another feeling underneath the tiredness.

A familiar one.

The feeling of wanting to move.

Wanting to feel sharp again.

Football had been waiting patiently while he was away.

It wasn't demanding anything from him yet.

There was no manager standing over him.

No coach shouting instructions.

No teammate waiting for him at a training ground.

Pre-season was still ahead.

But Francesco knew himself.

If he waited until the first official training session to start getting serious again, he would spend the first several days trying to regain something he could have built back gradually at home.

He turned toward Leah.

She didn't move.

Francesco carefully slipped out of bed.

He changed quietly, pulling on a pair of jogging shorts, a lightweight training shirt and running shoes.

Before leaving the room, he glanced back at Leah.

Still asleep.

"Lucky you," he whispered.

Then he smiled and headed downstairs.

Cheddar was curled up near the sofa.

The corgi lifted his head as Francesco passed.

"Morning, mate."

Cheddar's ears moved.

Francesco crouched briefly and gave him a quick scratch.

"Go back to sleep."

Cheddar seemed perfectly happy with that arrangement.

A few minutes later, Francesco stepped outside.

The morning air was cool against his face.

He stretched for a moment, rolling his shoulders and loosening his legs.

Then he started running.

Not quickly.

That was deliberate.

He didn't need to prove anything this morning.

The point wasn't to destroy himself after a week away.

The point was to remind his body what it felt like to work again.

His first few minutes were easy.

His breathing settled into a steady rhythm as he moved along the roads surrounding the residential complex.

The scenery was familiar.

Quiet houses.

Trimmed gardens.

Cars parked along driveways.

The occasional early riser appearing behind a window.

Francesco kept his pace comfortable.

He could feel the difference between this and his normal training.

There was a little stiffness in his legs.

His body felt rested, but not fully conditioned.

That was expected.

Santorini had done exactly what he had wanted it to do.

He had relaxed.

Now he needed to wake everything back up.

He gradually increased his pace.

Nothing dramatic.

Just enough to make his breathing deeper and his legs work a little harder.

As he ran, he found himself thinking about the weeks ahead.

Pre-season.

Training.

Fitness testing.

Tactical work.

The rhythm of Arsenal returning.

He knew what would eventually come with it.

Matches.

Travel.

Pressure.

Expectations.

He wasn't trying to rush toward any of it.

But he wanted to arrive prepared.

Not spend the first week wondering why everyone else looked sharper.

Not spend the first sessions trying to recover his stamina.

He wanted his body ready before the football demanded it.

By the time he finished his run, sweat had begun forming along his forehead.

Francesco slowed to a walk.

He breathed deeply.

He wasn't exhausted.

That was the point.

He stretched his calves and hamstrings, then looked back toward the mansion.

"All right," he murmured.

One step at a time.

He returned home.

Inside, Cheddar was still asleep in almost exactly the same position.

Francesco laughed quietly.

"You've had a productive morning."

Cheddar opened one eye.

Francesco headed upstairs, showered quickly and changed into fresh training clothes.

Then he went downstairs again and entered his private gym.

The room was familiar.

Machines.

Free weights.

A treadmill.

An exercise bike.

Space for movement and conditioning work.

After a week away, it felt almost strange to be surrounded by equipment again.

Francesco stood in the middle of the room for a moment.

Then he started.

The first part was cardio.

He settled onto the treadmill and began at a moderate pace, allowing his body to warm up properly before gradually increasing the intensity.

The steady rhythm returned.

Footsteps.

Breathing.

The quiet hum of the machine.

He worked through the first stretch without looking at the clock.

There was something satisfying about it.

No one was telling him how long to run.

No one was timing him.

He was there because he wanted to be.

When he eventually stepped off, he took a drink and walked around for a minute before moving into strength work.

He started with controlled movements rather than immediately reaching for his heaviest weights.

Squats.

Presses.

Pulling exercises.

Core work.

Everything was deliberate.

He concentrated on technique, keeping his movements clean.

The goal was not simply to become stronger.

He needed the kind of strength that transferred onto a football pitch.

Stability.

Balance.

Power.

The ability to absorb contact and remain upright.

The ability to accelerate after a change of direction.

The ability to keep moving late in a match when everyone else was beginning to slow.

He moved from one exercise to another, taking proper recovery periods between sets.

Whenever his breathing became too heavy, he waited.

Whenever his muscles began burning, he didn't panic.

He simply worked through it.

At one point, he sat on a bench with a towel around his neck.

His chest rose and fell steadily.

He looked at the floor.

A week ago, he'd been floating around Santorini without knowing what time dinner was going to happen.

Now he was sitting in his gym thinking about acceleration and stamina.

He smiled.

The contrast was almost funny.

But he didn't regret a second of the holiday.

If anything, he felt better because of it.

He stood again.

The next phase was conditioning.

Short bursts.

Controlled acceleration.

Movement drills.

Explosive work followed by recovery.

He pushed harder here.

His legs responded.

That familiar sharpness was beginning to return.

He wasn't quite where he wanted to be yet.

He knew that.

But he could feel the foundation coming back.

After another demanding sequence, Francesco stepped aside and rested with his hands on his hips.

His breathing was heavier now.

Sweat ran down his forehead.

He took a drink and stared at himself in the mirror.

"Not bad."

Then he smiled.

"But not there yet."

That was fine.

He had time.

He wasn't preparing for tomorrow's match.

He was preparing to be ready when Arsenal called everyone back.

There was a difference.

He finished with a final conditioning block, followed by a slower period of movement that allowed his heart rate to come down.

Then he spent several minutes stretching.

By the time he finally stopped, his entire body felt worked.

Not destroyed.

Worked.

Exactly what he wanted.

Francesco picked up his towel.

"That's enough."

He left the gym and headed upstairs.

After another shower, he changed into comfortable clothes.

The house had become brighter by now.

Morning had properly arrived.

He walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

Breakfast.

Something healthy.

Something substantial.

He wasn't interested in grabbing something quickly and moving on.

He wanted to make enough for both of them.

He pulled out eggs, fresh fruit, vegetables, yogurt and bread.

Soon the kitchen filled with the sounds of cooking.

A pan warming.

Eggs being whisked.

Vegetables being chopped.

The smell of breakfast slowly spreading through the house.

Francesco worked comfortably, occasionally tasting something and adjusting it.

He put together a plate of eggs with vegetables, prepared fresh fruit and yogurt, and added toasted bread.

Nothing complicated.

Just enough to give them a proper start to the day.

Behind him came a faint sound.

Footsteps.

Francesco looked over his shoulder.

Leah appeared in the doorway.

Her hair was slightly messy.

She was still half asleep.

She stopped when she saw him.

"You're up."

Francesco smiled.

"Yeah."

She looked toward the clock.

Then back at him.

"How long have you been awake?"

"A while."

Leah narrowed her eyes.

"What have you done?"

"Nothing."

"You're smiling."

"I'm making breakfast."

"That isn't what I meant."

Francesco laughed.

Leah walked farther into the kitchen.

Then she noticed the training clothes he'd left folded nearby.

She looked at him.

"You went running."

"Yeah."

"Already?"

"Yeah."

She stared at him for a moment.

"Who are you?"

Francesco laughed.

"I went for a run."

"After a week in Santorini?"

"Exactly."

"You were supposed to be relaxing."

"I did relax."

"And now?"

"Now I want to get moving again."

Leah leaned against the counter.

"How far?"

"Just around the complex."

She nodded slowly.

"And then?"

Francesco hesitated.

"I trained."

Her eyebrows went up.

"You trained?"

"In the gym."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Leah stared at him before breaking into a sleepy laugh.

"Wow."

"What?"

"You lasted one morning."

"One morning?"

"You've been home for barely twelve hours."

Francesco smiled.

"I told you. I'm not trying to rush back into football."

"Really?"

"Really."

He turned back toward the stove.

"I just want to feel ready."

Leah watched him.

"For pre-season?"

"Yeah."

He lowered the heat.

"I don't want to arrive there and spend the first week trying to get my fitness back. I'd rather start gradually now."

Leah nodded.

"That makes sense."

"I've got time. I'm not going crazy."

She smiled.

"I saw your face when you said 'fitness.'"

"What was wrong with my face?"

"You suddenly became very serious."

Francesco laughed.

"I'm a professional footballer."

"You were also a tourist yesterday."

"Both can be true."

Leah smiled.

Then a familiar little set of footsteps came from the hallway.

Cheddar appeared.

He walked directly toward Leah.

"Good morning," she said.

The corgi's tail began moving.

Leah crouched.

"Are you hungry?"

Cheddar's ears lifted.

"That answers that."

She opened his food container and prepared his morning meal.

Cheddar waited nearby with impressive patience.

Francesco glanced over.

"He didn't even say hello to me."

"He knows who's feeding him."

"Traitor."

Leah laughed.

She placed his food down.

Cheddar immediately began eating.

"Happy now?"

Cheddar's tail moved once.

Francesco smiled.

"He's definitely happy."

Leah joined Francesco at the table once Cheddar had settled nearby.

She looked at the breakfast.

"You made all this?"

"Yeah."

"For both of us?"

"Obviously."

She smiled.

"You're full of surprises this morning."

Francesco sat down.

"I was hungry."

"You burned through half your breakfast before making breakfast."

"That's why I made more."

Leah laughed.

They began eating.

For a while, the conversation was easy.

No serious subjects.

No football analysis.

Just breakfast.

The kind of ordinary morning they rarely got to enjoy during the season.

Leah took a bite and looked at him.

"So how did the run feel?"

"Good."

"Legs okay?"

"A little stiff."

She smiled.

"See? That's what happens when you spend a week doing nothing."

"I wasn't doing nothing."

"You were swimming and eating."

"That counts."

"Not as training."

"No."

Francesco laughed.

He took another bite.

"I'll build it back gradually."

Leah nodded.

"I know."

She looked at him for a moment.

"I actually like seeing you excited about it."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Even though you were just making fun of me?"

"I can do both."

Francesco smiled.

"That sounds like you."

She reached across the table and briefly squeezed his hand.

"I just don't want you to feel like you have to be perfect immediately."

"I don't."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He looked toward the window.

"I'm not trying to prove anything to anyone."

Leah nodded.

"I know."

"I just want to be ready."

There was something calm about the way he said it.

No desperation.

No anxiety.

Just intention.

The World Cup had taken a huge amount out of him.

The celebrations had been enormous.

The attention had been overwhelming.

Santorini had allowed him to forget about all of it for a little while.

Now he could return to football without feeling like he was being dragged back into it.

He was choosing it.

That mattered.

Leah seemed to understand.

She smiled.

"Then I'm glad."

Francesco looked at her.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For letting me enjoy the holiday without making me think about training."

She laughed.

"I wasn't going to stop you from eating dessert."

"Exactly."

"I have priorities."

He grinned.

"Good."

They continued eating.

Cheddar eventually finished his food and wandered over to them.

He looked at Francesco.

Then Leah.

Then the table.

Francesco laughed.

"You've already eaten."

Cheddar sat down.

Leah looked at him.

"He thinks there might be more."

"There isn't."

Cheddar stared.

Francesco shook his head.

"Don't look at me like that."

Leah laughed.

"He missed you."

"I missed him too."

Francesco reached down and scratched Cheddar behind the ears.

The corgi leaned into his hand.

For a moment, the three of them remained there.

The mansion was quiet.

Sunlight had begun spreading across the kitchen.

Breakfast was almost finished.

Their luggage from Santorini was no longer scattered everywhere, but reminders of the trip still existed around the house.

A few souvenirs.

A shopping bag.

Photographs waiting on their phones.

Memories that were still fresh.

And now, slowly, another chapter was beginning.

Francesco looked at Leah.

"You know what feels strange?"

"What?"

"Yesterday we were looking at Santorini from above."

"And today you're running around London."

"Exactly."

She smiled.

"That's life."

He nodded.

"It is."

Outside, the city continued waking.

Somewhere beyond the mansion, football was beginning to return to his world.

There would eventually be messages.

Training schedules.

Arsenal.

Pre-season.

The familiar demands waiting for him.

But none of it had arrived yet.

For now, Francesco was sitting at the breakfast table with Leah, a full stomach, tired muscles and Cheddar resting nearby.

He had no reason to rush.

He had no match to prepare for that morning.

No interview.

No cameras.

No crowd.

Just another ordinary morning.

And perhaps that was the best way to begin again.

Leah finished her breakfast and looked at him.

"So, Mr. Professional Footballer."

Francesco raised an eyebrow.

"Yes?"

"You're not training again this afternoon, are you?"

He smiled.

"Maybe."

She pointed at him.

"Francesco."

He laughed.

"I'm joking."

"Good."

"I'll take it easy."

"Thank you."

He reached for his glass.

"But tomorrow…"

Leah groaned.

"Oh, here we go."

Francesco laughed.

Cheddar lifted his head at the sound of their voices.

Leah smiled despite herself.

The holiday was over.

The football season was slowly beginning to appear on the horizon.

But there was no need to leap toward it.

Francesco had taken the first step that morning.

Not because anyone had demanded it.

Not because he was afraid of falling behind.

Simply because he wanted his body, his mind and his confidence ready when the time came.

The breakfast plates eventually became empty.

Leah carried her glass toward the kitchen while Francesco remained at the table for another few moments, leaning back in his chair. Cheddar had settled comfortably on the floor nearby, apparently satisfied that everyone had been fed and that the household had finally returned to its proper routine.

Francesco looked toward the clock.

Still morning.

He had already run.

He had trained.

He had eaten.

And yet the day had barely begun.

Leah returned from the kitchen and paused beside him.

"What now?"

Francesco shrugged.

"I don't know."

"That sounds suspiciously like someone who has no plans."

"I don't have plans."

She smiled.

"Good."

Francesco stood.

"I might watch some football."

Leah gave him an amused look.

"Of course you might."

"What?"

"You lasted one morning."

"I know."

"You went from Santorini beaches to a private gym, and now you're going to watch football."

"It's called easing back into normal life."

Leah laughed.

"Whatever you say."

Francesco reached down and scratched Cheddar's head.

"You coming?"

Cheddar looked up at him but made no attempt to move.

Leah smiled.

"I think he's tired."

"From what?"

"Being spoiled."

Francesco laughed.

"Fair enough."

He headed into the living room.

The familiar space felt different now that they were properly back. Their luggage had been put away, the house was beginning to feel lived-in again, and the quietness of the morning had settled over everything.

Francesco picked up the remote and turned on the television.

Sky Sports appeared almost immediately.

The change was instant.

The peaceful rhythm of breakfast disappeared beneath studio music, graphics and the familiar urgency of football news.

A large summer transfer window graphic filled the screen.

Francesco smiled.

"Well."

Leah walked in behind him.

"You really couldn't stay away."

"I wasn't planning to."

"You literally just said you were easing back into normal life."

"This is normal."

"For you, apparently."

Francesco sat down on the sofa.

Leah joined him, tucking her legs beneath herself.

Cheddar eventually wandered in and settled on the rug between them.

The presenter was already discussing the latest developments from around Europe.

The transfer window had become increasingly active while Francesco and Leah had been away.

Clubs were negotiating.

Agents were travelling.

Offers were being made.

Counteroffers were being considered.

Every few minutes, another name appeared on the screen.

Francesco leaned forward slightly.

It felt strange hearing all of it after spending a week where football had barely entered his thoughts.

The presenter moved to one of the biggest stories of the morning.

"Liverpool continue to work on their summer recruitment plans, with goalkeeper Alisson Becker and midfielder Fabinho among the major names being discussed…"

Francesco's attention sharpened.

Leah noticed.

"Oh, you've found something."

"Liverpool."

"That got your attention."

"Of course."

The screen showed images of Alisson in goal.

The discussion turned toward Liverpool's interest and the negotiations surrounding the Brazilian goalkeeper.

The presenters were careful with their language.

There was interest.

There had been contact.

There was work being done behind the scenes.

But nothing was being presented as completely finished.

Francesco nodded.

"Alisson would be a huge signing."

Leah looked at the screen.

"He's the goalkeeper?"

"Yeah."

"Is he that good?"

Francesco gave her a look.

"Very."

She smiled.

"I know some things about football."

"I didn't say you didn't."

"You were about to."

"I wasn't."

"You were."

Francesco laughed.

The presenter continued discussing the situation, explaining that negotiations remained ongoing and that Liverpool still had work to do before anything could be regarded as completely finalized.

Francesco appreciated that distinction.

The transfer window had a way of turning possibilities into facts before anything had actually happened.

He had seen it often enough.

One day a player was supposedly close.

The next day another club had entered the race.

Then an agreement would appear to be imminent.

Then everything could change.

Leah looked at him.

"So they're not actually done?"

"Not yet."

"But they're trying."

"Exactly."

The graphic changed.

Fabinho's name appeared.

Liverpool were also working toward a deal for the midfielder.

Again, the language remained cautious.

Interest.

Negotiations.

Discussions.

Progress.

Nothing definite.

Francesco leaned back.

"They're really going for it."

Leah glanced at him.

"Would those two make them better?"

"Definitely."

"How much better?"

Francesco considered it.

"A lot."

She laughed.

"That sounds very technical."

"I'm trying not to give you a tactical lecture before lunch."

"Thank you."

He smiled.

Liverpool had clearly decided that they needed to strengthen.

Alisson would offer quality and reliability behind their defence, while Fabinho could provide another dimension in midfield.

Francesco watched the discussion carefully.

The names were important.

Not merely because of Liverpool themselves.

Because of what they meant for the Premier League.

Arsenal's rivals were already preparing.

While he had spent the previous week walking around Santorini, eating long lunches and taking photographs with Leah, clubs across England had been working to change their squads.

He shook his head slightly.

"This window has moved quickly."

Leah smiled.

"You were away for a week."

"Exactly."

"And apparently football couldn't wait for you."

"I know."

The broadcast moved through more transfer graphics before turning its attention toward Chelsea.

Francesco immediately recognized another familiar name.

Chelsea.

The presenters began discussing several potential arrivals, with Jorginho among the players being linked with a move.

Francesco watched closely.

The reports suggested that discussions were developing, but once again, the presenter made it clear that negotiations were still part of the process.

Nothing was being treated as completed simply because there was interest.

Leah looked toward him.

"Jorginho?"

"Midfielder."

"Good?"

"Very good."

She nodded.

Then another name appeared.

Mateo Kovacic.

Francesco raised his eyebrows.

"Kovacic too."

Leah looked at the screen.

"Who does he play for?"

"Real Madrid."

She nodded slowly.

"And Chelsea want him?"

"Apparently they're interested."

The discussion continued.

Chelsea were exploring their options.

Different possibilities were being considered.

Some negotiations were more advanced than others.

The presenters debated how the potential arrivals might fit into the squad and what the club's summer recruitment strategy could mean for the coming season.

Francesco listened.

He wasn't surprised that Chelsea were active.

What did surprise him was how quickly the landscape seemed to be moving.

A week ago, his biggest concern had been whether he and Leah had enough time to watch the sunset.

Now he was sitting on his sofa listening to discussions about Premier League squads.

Leah nudged him gently.

"You look very serious."

"I'm listening."

"You've got your football face on."

"My what?"

"Your football face."

Francesco laughed.

"I don't have a football face."

"You absolutely do."

She copied his expression, narrowing her eyes toward the television.

Francesco laughed.

"That doesn't look like me."

"It does."

"No."

She smiled.

"You're doing it right now."

He shook his head.

The coverage continued.

Another Chelsea transfer graphic appeared.

Kepa Arrizabalaga.

The goalkeeper was being discussed as another potential addition.

Again, the story was framed around interest and negotiations rather than presenting the transfer as completed.

Francesco watched carefully.

Chelsea were looking at several positions.

Jorginho.

Kovacic.

Kepa.

The squad could look considerably different by the time the new campaign began.

Then the broadcast shifted from transfers to the Chelsea managerial situation.

A photograph of Antonio Conte appeared on the screen.

Francesco's expression changed slightly.

The presenter explained that Conte had been replaced as Chelsea manager by Maurizio Sarri, with the managerial change becoming one of the defining stories surrounding the club's summer.

Leah looked at Francesco.

"They changed managers too?"

"Yeah."

"While we were away?"

Francesco nodded.

"Apparently."

She smiled.

"You really did miss a lot."

"I did."

The discussion moved into what Sarri's arrival could mean for Chelsea.

His approach.

His footballing philosophy.

The adjustments the players might have to make.

The impact on recruitment.

The relationship between a new manager and the club's transfer plans.

Francesco found himself increasingly absorbed.

This wasn't just about individual players anymore.

It was about the Premier League changing around him.

A rival club had a new manager.

Another was pursuing major signings.

Squads were being rebuilt.

Plans for the new campaign were already taking shape.

And Arsenal would eventually have to face all of them.

Leah watched him for a moment.

"You missed this."

Francesco glanced at her.

"What?"

"Football."

He smiled.

"I didn't miss it that much."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Really?"

"I enjoyed Santorini."

"I know."

"But…"

He looked toward the television.

"I suppose I can't completely switch it off."

Leah smiled.

"I knew it."

"It's different when I'm playing."

"Still football."

"Yeah."

She leaned against the sofa.

"I actually like seeing you interested again."

Francesco looked at her.

"Even after you spent the whole morning making fun of me for training?"

"Especially then."

He laughed.

The broadcast continued.

A presenter discussed the transfer market from the studio while another contributor offered analysis.

Behind them, a large graphic showed the latest Premier League transfer developments.

At the bottom of the screen, a scrolling headline moved steadily across.

Liverpool's negotiations.

Chelsea's recruitment.

Sarri's appointment.

Potential deals.

Developing stories.

Francesco watched all of it.

He wasn't trying to memorize every detail.

He simply wanted to understand what had changed.

The football world had continued moving while he was gone.

It had not paused because he had stepped away.

And that was perfectly normal.

For seven days, he had allowed himself to forget about it.

Now it was beginning to find its way back.

Leah reached for her phone.

"You know, yesterday you were taking pictures of beaches."

Francesco nodded.

"Yeah."

"Today you're watching transfer negotiations."

"That's a pretty big change."

"Very."

She smiled.

"Welcome home."

Francesco laughed.

"Thanks."

Cheddar suddenly lifted his head at the sound of their laughter.

He looked toward the television.

Then toward Francesco.

Then he placed his head back down.

Leah looked at him.

"Even Cheddar doesn't care about the transfer window."

"Cheddar has better priorities."

"What, sleeping?"

"Exactly."

She laughed.

Francesco reached down and stroked the corgi's back.

The television continued talking in the background.

For a moment, the contrast struck him.

There had been no television in their mornings in Santorini demanding his attention.

No transfer graphics.

No speculation.

No discussion about what Arsenal's rivals were doing.

There had simply been sunlight, breakfast, the sea and Leah.

Now the familiar machinery of football was beginning to turn again.

He wasn't bothered by it.

If anything, he felt ready.

Not ready to play a match tomorrow.

Not ready to throw himself straight back into the intensity of a season.

Just ready to begin paying attention again.

The presenter returned to the Liverpool story.

The negotiations surrounding Alisson and Fabinho remained ongoing.

Francesco listened as the studio discussed how significant those additions could become if Liverpool managed to complete both deals.

Leah looked at him.

"So if they get both?"

Francesco nodded.

"They'll be stronger."

"And Chelsea?"

"Potentially stronger too."

"With the new manager?"

"Yeah."

She thought about it.

"So Arsenal have to deal with all of that."

Francesco smiled.

"Eventually."

"Sounds like work."

"It is."

He leaned back into the sofa.

"But that's football."

Leah smiled.

"You're enjoying this."

"A little."

"I knew it."

Francesco didn't argue.

He looked at the screen again.

The summer transfer window was only beginning to reshape the landscape, yet already the Premier League felt different from the one he had left behind before Santorini.

Liverpool were working on major additions.

Chelsea were changing under Sarri and exploring several significant signings.

Every club was preparing for the next campaign in its own way.

And Arsenal would have to do the same.

Francesco glanced toward the window.

London was fully awake now.

Cars moved through the streets.

The city had returned to its normal rhythm.

He looked back at the television.

For the first time since returning, he felt that familiar part of his life settling back into place.

Not completely.

Not all at once.

But gradually.

The holiday had given him distance.

Now football was giving him direction again.

Leah leaned against his shoulder.

"You're going to be watching this all day, aren't you?"

Francesco smiled.

"Probably not all day."

She gave him a skeptical look.

"Maybe."

He laughed.

"I'll stop eventually."

"Good."

She rested against him more comfortably.

Francesco continued watching the broadcast.

The next Arsenal training session was still somewhere ahead.

Pre-season was approaching.

His body had already begun its return that morning.

And now, sitting beside Leah with Cheddar sleeping nearby, he was beginning to reconnect with the world he had deliberately left behind.

For one week, Santorini had allowed everything else to disappear.

Now the football world was quietly knocking on the door again.

And Francesco realized just how much had changed while he was away.

The Premier League had kept moving.

Transfers were being negotiated.

Managers were changing clubs.

Squads were taking shape.

The new season was already beginning to write its opening chapters.

__________________________________________________

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