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Maybe she was right. Maybe nights like these really did make you stronger, because you doesn't want to taste another defeat. But for now, he just wanted to sit here, in the comfort of home, and forget about football for a little while.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the familiar walls of Francesco's childhood bedroom. He blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting to the sunlight as he reached for his phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up—8:00 AM.
He let out a slow breath, rubbing his face with his hands before staring at the ceiling for a moment. Last night had been… grounding. After spending time with Leah, talking about anything and everything besides football, he had finally felt a little lighter. They had gone to their respective rooms—Leah to the guest bedroom, and he to his own. Even with the weight of the Juventus defeat still lingering in the back of his mind, being home had provided a sense of comfort he hadn't realized he needed.
The house was quiet, save for the distant sounds of movement downstairs. He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed before running a hand through his hair. His body still felt sore from the match, a dull ache in his legs reminding him of the ninety minutes he had fought through. But the soreness wasn't just physical—it was the mental exhaustion too.
With a sigh, he stood up and made his way to the bathroom, turning on the shower. The hot water cascaded over him, soothing his muscles, washing away some of the fatigue. He let himself stay under the spray for a while, eyes closed, allowing the warmth to clear his head.
After drying off, he threw on a simple grey hoodie and black sweatpants before making his way downstairs. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and something delicious cooking filled the air, wrapping around him like a familiar embrace.
As he stepped into the kitchen, he saw Leah standing by the counter, helping his mother prepare breakfast. She had her blonde hair tied up messily, wearing one of his old hoodies—probably something she had borrowed last night. She looked completely at ease, chopping vegetables while chatting softly with Sarah, who was flipping pancakes on the stove.
His father, Mike, sat at the dining table, reading the morning newspaper with a steaming cup of coffee beside him. The entire scene was warm, domestic. It was such a contrast from the intense world of professional football that Francesco almost felt like he had stepped into a different reality.
Sarah was the first to notice him. She turned with a bright smile. "Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?"
He nodded, his voice still a little groggy. "Yeah. Better than I expected."
Leah glanced up, her lips curving into a small smile. "Morning, sleepyhead."
Francesco smirked as he walked over to the table, pulling out a chair. "Morning."
Mike folded his newspaper and peered at his son over his coffee mug. "So, what's the plan today? Heading back to training?"
Francesco reached for his phone, unlocking it with a quick swipe of his thumb. His notifications were flooded—some messages from teammates, a few news articles speculating about Arsenal's season after the Juventus loss, and, of course, social media reactions. But he ignored all of that for now and tapped on the team's WhatsApp group.
A new message from Arsène Wenger was pinned at the top.
Wenger: No training today. Rest up and recover. Those on international duty, don't come back injured. Stay healthy.
Francesco sighed in relief. A day off was exactly what he needed after the emotional and physical toll of last night. He set his phone down on the table and looked up at his father.
"No training today," he said. "Boss wants us to rest."
Mike nodded approvingly. "Good. You need it."
Sarah placed a plate of pancakes and eggs in front of him, along with a glass of orange juice. "Eat up," she said gently. "You need the energy."
Leah set down a mug of coffee beside him before sitting across the table, her own plate in front of her. She looked at him curiously. "So, international break. Are you getting called up?"
Francesco took a bite of his pancakes, chewing slowly as he considered Leah's question. After a brief pause, he shook his head.
"No," he finally answered, his tone neutral, though there was a hint of confusion in his voice. "I wasn't called up."
Leah frowned slightly. "Seriously?"
His father set down his coffee mug, raising an eyebrow. "That's odd. You've been one of Arsenal's best players this season."
Francesco exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah, I thought I'd get the call. I mean, I've been playing well, scoring goals, putting in good performances. But I guess Roy Hodgson still doesn't fully trust me yet." He let out a small, almost bitter chuckle. "Maybe I'm still too young in his eyes."
Leah watched him carefully, her fork hovering over her plate. "Does it bother you?"
Francesco hesitated before shrugging. "A little. I won't lie, I wanted to be there. It would've been my first senior call-up. But at the same time…" He sighed, rubbing his face with one hand. "Maybe it's a blessing in disguise. The Juventus match took a lot out of me. Having a break might be good."
Sarah reached out, squeezing his hand gently. "Everything happens for a reason, sweetheart. Your time will come."
Mike, ever the pragmatist, nodded. "If anything, this just gives you more time to recharge. Prove them wrong when club football resumes."
Leah smirked, taking a sip of her coffee. "Well, looks like I get to keep you around for a few more days. Guess I can't complain."
Francesco chuckled. "Yeah, I suppose you're stuck with me."
They continued eating in comfortable conversation, shifting the topic to lighter things—Leah's plans for the next few days, Sarah suggesting they all watch a movie together later, and Mike complaining about how if VAR were implemented will ruining football.
After finishing breakfast, Francesco helped his mother clear the table while Leah grabbed another cup of coffee. The atmosphere in the house was warm, relaxed—something he had missed in the relentless schedule of matches, training, and media obligations. Today felt like a rare moment of normalcy, a chance to just be with his family and Leah without the weight of football constantly pressing down on him.
As they moved into the living room, his father grabbed the remote and flicked through the channels before settling on Sky Sports. Francesco internally sighed—he had a feeling football would find a way back into his day, even on a supposed break.
The screen displayed a studio panel featuring Ian Wright, Gary Neville, and Jamie Carragher. The segment's headline was bold and unavoidable:
"Arsenal's European Dream Ends—Where Did It Go Wrong?"
Francesco slumped onto the couch, rubbing his face as Leah settled beside him. She glanced at him, clearly gauging his mood.
"You sure you want to watch this?" she asked softly.
He exhaled, leaning back. "Might as well see what they're saying."
Mike smirked from his chair. "Bet they'll tear Arsenal apart."
Sarah shot him a look. "Mike, not helping."
On the screen, Ian Wright shook his head, visibly frustrated. "Listen, I love this Arsenal team. I love what they're building. But last night… that was painful to watch. They had chances, they had moments, but in the big games, you need killers. Ruthlessness. And I didn't see enough of that."
Gary Neville nodded. "I agree. Arsenal have been fantastic in the league, but the Champions League is a different beast. Juventus knew exactly what they were doing. They slowed the game down, frustrated Arsenal, and then punished them when the opportunity came. It was a lesson in game management."
Jamie Carragher leaned forward. "And let's talk about Francesco Lee. The kid has been phenomenal this season. One of Arsenal's standout players. But last night, he looked frustrated, like he was carrying too much of the burden."
Francesco felt Leah shift beside him, her hand subtly resting against his. He knew she hated seeing him scrutinized like this, but he had learned to take it in stride.
Ian Wright sighed. "And that's what worries me. He's young, but he's already Arsenal's main man in so many ways. You can't expect a 16-year-old to drag you through a Champions League quarter-final against Juventus. He needed more support. Where was everyone else?"
Neville chimed in. "Exactly. You look at Juventus—they had leaders all over the pitch. Arsenal are still growing in that sense. And listen, I'm not saying they were bad, but in Europe, you don't get second chances. Francesco had a tough night, but he wasn't the only one. The whole team needs to learn from this."
Carragher chuckled. "That being said, I wouldn't bet against this kid bouncing back. He's got that Cristiano Ronaldo mentality—he'll take this personally, and he'll come back even better."
Francesco let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "At least someone believes in me."
Mike huffed. "Damn right you'll bounce back. They're acting like you won't come back stronger."
Sarah reached over, brushing his hair back like she used to when he was a kid. "You're already proving people wrong, sweetheart. Just keep going."
Leah squeezed his hand. "And for the record, I believe in you more than all of them combined."
Francesco smirked, the tension in his chest easing a little. "That's a bold claim."
She grinned. "I stand by it."
They continued watching, the discussion shifting to Arsenal's future in the league. As much as Francesco hated reliving the loss, there was a strange comfort in hearing experienced professionals dissect it.
As the discussion about Arsenal's Champions League exit wrapped up, the Sky Sports studio transitioned to its next topic—one that immediately made Francesco tense up again. The bold white letters flashed across the screen:
"Why Was Francesco Lee Left Out of the England Squad?"
Leah shot him a quick glance, but he just sighed, leaning back into the couch. He had already accepted the fact that he wouldn't be going on international duty, but that didn't mean he was looking forward to hearing pundits debate why.
In the studio, Ian Wright sat up, shaking his head. "Alright, let's get into it. Francesco Lee—one of Arsenal's best players this season, playing in the Champions League, competing for the Premier League title, yet somehow, he's not in Roy Hodgson's squad for the international break. Gary, Jamie, explain this to me."
Gary Neville exhaled, folding his arms. "Look, first of all, I'm surprised. No, scratch that—I'm shocked. Francesco has been brilliant for Arsenal. He's playing at a level far beyond his years, and when you look at the England squad, there's no reason why he shouldn't at least be included."
Jamie Carragher nodded in agreement. "Exactly. And we're not saying he should be starting every game for England, but how do you not bring him in? Give him a taste of international football, let him get used to the setup, because let's be honest—he's going to be a key part of England's future whether Hodgson likes it or not."
Francesco scoffed, shaking his head. "Nice to know they rate me higher than the actual England manager does."
Mike grunted in agreement. "They're right, though. If you're good enough, you're old enough."
Leah reached for his hand again. "Do you think it's just because of your age?"
Francesco shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. But then you see other young players getting called up—so what makes me different?"
Back in the studio, Ian Wright sighed. "Look, I get that Roy Hodgson is a cautious manager. He prefers experience. But we've seen young talents get their shot before—Rooney got into the squad at 17, Theo Walcott went to the World Cup at 16. Francesco is playing against Juventus in the Champions League, for crying out loud! How much more does he need to prove?"
Neville tapped the table. "And let's talk about the players who did make the squad. Without naming names, there are a couple of forwards in that list who have done nowhere near as much as Francesco has this season. It makes you wonder—what's the criteria?"
Carragher smirked. "Gary, just say it. You're talking about Andros Townsend, aren't you?"
Neville didn't deny it, instead chuckling. "Look, I like Townsend, but come on. Francesco has more goals, more assists, he's playing in the Champions League, and yet somehow, Townsend gets picked over him? What's the logic?"
Ian Wright leaned forward. "Do you think it could be politics? Maybe the England staff don't want to put too much pressure on a young player?"
Carragher shook his head. "If that's the case, it's nonsense. Players like Francesco don't need protection. They thrive under pressure. You don't play at this level at 16 if you don't have the mentality for it."
Mike let out a low whistle. "Carragher's talking sense for once."
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Mike, please."
Francesco, meanwhile, found himself caught between frustration and a strange sense of validation. It was one thing for his family and Leah to believe in him—but to hear legends of the game outright say that he deserved a call-up? That meant something.
Still, the question lingered in his mind—why didn't Hodgson call him up? Was it really just his age? Or was there something else?
The Sky Sports discussion continued, with Ian Wright finally throwing the question back to his co-hosts. "Alright, so what happens next? If Francesco keeps performing, does Hodgson eventually have to call him up?"
Neville nodded. "He won't have a choice. If Francesco keeps playing like this, the pressure on Hodgson is only going to grow. He can justify it now by saying he wants to ease him in, but by the next international break? If Francesco's still playing this well, there's no excuse."
Carragher grinned. "And knowing Francesco, he'll probably take this as motivation. Come back after the break, score a couple more goals, and make Hodgson look foolish."
Francesco smirked, the fire inside him reigniting. "Damn right I will."
Leah grinned. "Now that's the Francesco I know."
Sarah reached over and patted his knee. "No matter what, we're proud of you."
Mike nodded. "And remember, club football comes first. Arsenal's still got a title to win."
The Sky Sports panel continued their discussion, and just as Francesco thought the segment was wrapping up, Ian Wright leaned forward, his expression serious.
"Before we move on, I just want to say this—Francesco Lee does have the mentality to play at the biggest stage. We saw it last night against Juventus," Wright emphasized, tapping his finger on the table for effect. "Yeah, Arsenal lost, and yeah, they wasted chances—chances that were either missed, saved by Buffon, or blocked by Juventus' defenders. But let's not overlook what Francesco did."
Neville nodded, already knowing where this was going. "He scored Arsenal's only goal," he said, backing up Wright's point.
"Exactly!" Wright exclaimed. "This kid was out there fighting for 90 minutes. He never stopped trying to find a second goal, even when Buffon denied him again and again. He didn't shy away. He didn't let the moment get too big for him. That's the kind of mentality you want in an England player. That's why it baffles me that Hodgson hasn't given him a call-up."
Francesco exhaled, rubbing his temple as he listened. He appreciated the praise, but it also reignited the frustration. If they could see it, why couldn't Hodgson?
Leah, sitting beside him, squeezed his hand gently. "You really don't have to let this get to you," she murmured. "You know you'll get your shot soon."
He gave her a small smile, appreciating the reassurance, but his competitive nature refused to let it go so easily.
On the screen, Jamie Carragher chuckled. "And let's be honest—Arsenal didn't lose that game because they weren't good enough. They lost to one man. Gianluigi Buffon."
Neville sighed, shaking his head. "Wenger said it last night in his post-match press conference—if you look at how Arsenal played, they were the better team. They controlled possession, they created more chances, they played the football Wenger wants them to play. But when you come up against a goalkeeper like Buffon having one of those nights? There's not much you can do."
Wright nodded. "Francesco did everything right. He kept making runs, kept taking shots, and if it were any other keeper, we'd probably be talking about a brace or a hat-trick. But Buffon's a legend for a reason. That's not a failure on Francesco's part—that's just coming up against one of the greatest goalkeepers of all time."
Mike huffed from his chair. "At least they're making sense. It's not like you bottled it or something."
Sarah gave him a look, but Francesco just smirked. "Yeah, I'd like to see anyone try scoring past Buffon on a night like that."
Leah grinned. "You almost did. Twice."
"Almost doesn't count," he muttered, but he wasn't sulking. If anything, his determination was growing.
Back in the studio, Carragher leaned back in his chair. "If I'm Francesco, I'm walking away from that game thinking, 'I belong at this level.' Because he does. He's shown he can perform against the very best. And if Roy Hodgson doesn't see that yet? Well, he'll have no choice soon enough."
Francesco smirked, nodding to himself. "Damn right he won't."
As the discussion wound down, the Sky Sports studio faded into the background. He had heard all the praise, the arguments, and the analysis. It didn't matter if the world saw his potential—it was up to him to prove it again and again. The next time he had the chance to make a statement, he wouldn't just be aiming for Buffon; he'd be aiming for a place in the squad, a place in history.
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Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 16 (2014)
Birthplace : London, England
Football Club : Arsenal First Team
Championship History : None
Match Played: 28
Goal: 33
Assist: 12
MOTM: 8