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Respect every opponent and every match, then earn everything all over again.
The days that followed passed with the rhythm that only football could create.
One training session blended into the next.
Recovery.
Video analysis.
Set-piece work.
Light tactical adjustments.
Every morning the squad arrived at London Colney knowing exactly what lay ahead, and every afternoon they left feeling just a little more prepared than the day before.
The conversation surrounding Arsenal, however, refused to slow down.
Television stations continued replaying their victories over Manchester City.
Newspapers praised the team's balance between youth and experience.
Pundits debated whether Arsène Wenger had quietly assembled the strongest squad of his managerial career.
And everywhere supporters went, one topic remained unavoidable.
The Champions League.
Despite Arsenal carrying a commanding 6-0 advantage from the first leg in Portugal, Wenger refused to let complacency creep into the dressing room.
Every meeting began with the same message.
"Respect the competition."
"Respect the opponent."
"Respect the game."
It became almost a daily mantra.
By the time Tuesday evening arrived, nobody inside Arsenal spoke about protecting a six-goal lead.
Instead, they spoke about winning another football match.
That was all.
The Emirates Stadium looked magnificent beneath the bright floodlights.
The giant Champions League starball covered the centre circle while blue banners hung from every stand.
Outside the stadium, supporters streamed through the turnstiles hours before kick-off, wrapped in scarves and winter coats.
The familiar Champions League anthem echoed from speakers around the concourse during the pre-match build-up.
European nights always carried their own atmosphere.
They felt bigger.
Sharper.
Every step toward the stadium seemed accompanied by a growing sense of anticipation.
As Arsenal's team coach turned beneath the Emirates into the underground players' entrance, hundreds of supporters waiting above applauded loudly.
Several children waved homemade signs.
One simply read:
FRANCESCO 9
Another carried a message for the whole squad.
FINISH THE JOB.
Inside the coach, Walker smiled as he looked through the window.
"They're acting like it's another final."
Ramsey adjusted the strap of his training bag.
"That's because it's Europe."
"It always feels different."
Francesco sat quietly near the front.
His headphones rested around his neck, although no music played.
Instead, he simply watched the familiar tunnel approach.
Tonight wasn't about chasing miracles.
It was about professionalism.
The coach came to a smooth stop beneath the stadium.
One by one the players climbed down, thanking the driver before heading inside.
Members of Arsenal's staff greeted them warmly.
"Evening, lads."
"Good luck."
"Let's finish the job."
Walker grinned.
"We're planning to."
Robertson nudged him.
"Try saying that after the match."
"I like confidence."
"I know you do."
The squad made their way along the familiar corridor before entering the dressing room.
Everything had already been prepared.
Fresh navy training kits rested neatly across every seat.
Boots had been polished.
Energy drinks stood beside every locker.
The atmosphere felt calm.
Nobody rushed.
Nobody needed reminding what to do.
Francesco walked toward his place before placing his training bag underneath the bench.
Above his locker hung Arsenal's famous red-and-white shirt.
Number 9.
Beside it rested the captain's armband once again.
Walker noticed him looking.
"Looks like you're Skip again."
Francesco smiled.
"So it does."
"You getting used to it?"
"A little."
"You wear it well."
"Thanks."
Around the room players gradually changed into their training kit.
Boot laces were tightened.
Tape wrapped around ankles.
Music played quietly from the corner speaker.
Alexis bounced lightly on the balls of his feet while juggling a football effortlessly.
Kanté stretched beside Xhaka.
Van Dijk quietly checked his boots for a final time.
The relaxed atmosphere reflected the confidence growing inside the squad.
A knock interrupted the conversations.
Tony Colbert looked around the door.
"Five minutes."
"Warm-up."
Immediately everyone stood.
Training jackets were pulled on.
Gloves disappeared onto hands.
Then the players filed into the tunnel.
The roar greeting Arsenal as they emerged onto the Emirates pitch rolled around the stadium.
More than sixty thousand supporters rose together.
Champions League scarves stretched into the air.
The Champions League anthem had not yet begun, but the atmosphere already felt electric.
Francesco glanced around the stadium.
No matter how many times he walked onto this pitch, nights like these never became ordinary.
Warm-up began with light jogging before progressing into dynamic stretches.
The coaching staff moved the players through familiar routines.
Passing drills followed.
Quick triangles.
One-touch combinations.
Finishing exercises.
Cech worked separately with the goalkeeping coaches.
His gloves repeatedly slapped away powerful shots from Giroud and Alexis.
At the opposite end of the pitch, Porto completed their own preparations.
Sergio Conceição stood watching every movement closely.
His players knew qualification bordered on impossible.
But professional pride remained.
Casillas organised his defenders.
Corona and Waris practised quick combinations along the wing.
Aboubakar fired several powerful efforts toward goal.
Nobody wearing blue intended to surrender quietly.
Francesco noticed them briefly before returning to Arsenal's passing drill.
The only opponents he needed to think about would be the ones standing opposite him after kick-off.
Nothing else mattered.
After almost half an hour, Michael Oliver walked onto the pitch alongside his assistants.
That was the signal.
Warm-up complete.
The Arsenal players applauded every corner of the stadium before disappearing beneath the stands.
⸻
Inside the dressing room, the atmosphere transformed almost instantly.
Training tops came off.
Match shirts replaced them.
The famous red body with white sleeves returned.
The sound of boots striking the tiled floor echoed around the room.
Shin pads disappeared beneath socks.
Francesco carefully pulled his number nine shirt over his head before fastening the captain's armband securely around his left arm.
Across the room, Walker smiled.
"Still looks good."
Francesco laughed.
"I hope so."
A few moments later Wenger entered carrying his familiar tactical folder.
The conversations stopped immediately.
He placed the magnetic board at the front before looking around the room.
"Good."
"Our team."
He glanced briefly at his notes.
"The starting eleven remains unchanged."
Several players nodded.
The continuity wasn't surprising.
The previous performance against Manchester City had been outstanding.
Wenger continued.
"Petr Čech."
"Andrew Robertson."
"Virgil van Dijk."
"Laurent Koscielny."
"Kyle Walker."
"N'Golo Kanté."
"Granit Xhaka."
"Mesut Özil."
"Serge Gnabry."
"Alexis Sánchez."
Finally his eyes settled upon Francesco.
"Our captain…"
"Francesco."
The striker nodded.
"Ready."
"I know."
Wenger turned the tactical board around.
Blue magnets already showed Porto's expected shape.
"Our opponents."
"Sergio Conceição has chosen this team."
He pointed individually.
"In goal…"
"Iker Casillas."
Even hearing the legendary goalkeeper's name earned quiet respect around the room.
"Defence."
"Diogo Dalot."
"Felipe."
"Diego Reyes."
"Maxi Pereira."
"Midfield."
"André André."
"Óliver Torres."
"Bruno Costa."
"Attack."
"Majeed Waris."
"Jesús Corona."
"Vincent Aboubakar."
He stepped back from the board.
"They will attack."
"They have no alternative."
"They trail by six goals."
"They must take risks."
He looked directly toward his midfield.
"Mesut."
"Granit."
"N'Golo."
"This match belongs to you."
"If we control the midfield…"
"We control everything."
The three nodded together.
Wenger continued.
"They'll press aggressively early."
"Don't rush."
"If nothing is available…"
"Keep the ball."
"Make them run."
He pointed toward the front three.
"Alexis."
"Serge."
"Francesco."
"The spaces will appear."
"Be patient."
Finally, he closed the folder.
"I have only one request."
The room became completely silent.
"Play steadily."
"If opportunities come…"
"Take them."
"But do not become careless."
He looked around every player.
"And above all…"
"Avoid injuries."
"We have many important matches ahead."
He smiled gently.
"Go and enjoy your football."
The players gathered inside the tunnel.
Children wearing Champions League mascots' uniforms stood between them.
The famous anthem began echoing throughout the Emirates.
Francesco shook Casillas' hand.
"Good luck."
The Spanish goalkeeper smiled.
"You too."
Nearby, Wenger and Conceição exchanged respectful handshakes before returning to their technical areas.
The teams walked onto the pitch together beneath deafening applause.
Blue and white Champions League flags waved across every stand.
Francesco took one final look around before focusing entirely on the centre circle.
Michael Oliver checked both assistants.
One glance at his watch.
Then the whistle sounded.
The match began.
As expected, Porto started brightly.
Their pressing was energetic.
Their forwards closed Arsenal's defenders quickly, hoping for an early mistake.
Yet Arsenal never looked rushed.
The back four calmly exchanged possession.
Kanté dropped deep to receive.
Xhaka dictated the tempo with measured passes.
Özil drifted effortlessly into pockets of space, always offering another passing option.
Every completed sequence slowly drained Porto's early energy.
Six goals behind, they couldn't afford to spend ninety minutes chasing shadows.
After twenty minutes, Arsenal had almost seventy percent possession.
The Emirates crowd appreciated every passing move with growing confidence.
Then, in the twenty-sixth minute, patience produced its reward.
Van Dijk calmly stepped forward before finding Xhaka.
The Swiss midfielder immediately played into Özil between Porto's midfield and defence.
The German turned gracefully with his first touch.
Francesco had already begun his run.
He drifted away from Felipe before accelerating into the channel.
Özil saw everything.
His through ball split Porto's defence beautifully.
Francesco met it perfectly in stride.
Casillas rushed from his line.
The Arsenal captain stayed composed.
One precise finish across the veteran goalkeeper.
The ball rolled into the far corner.
Goal.
Arsenal 1-0 Porto.
Aggregate: 7-0.
The Emirates erupted.
Francesco spread his arms before being embraced by Alexis and Gnabry.
Özil simply smiled.
"You made the run."
"You made the pass," Francesco replied.
The supporters answered with another chorus of his name.
Porto tried responding.
Aboubakar forced Koscielny into an important block.
Corona delivered a dangerous cross that Walker cleared brilliantly.
Moments later Waris found himself one-on-one with Cech, only for the Czech goalkeeper to spread himself brilliantly and make an outstanding save.
"Well done, Petr!" Van Dijk shouted.
Cech simply raised a hand before organising his defence again.
Despite creating a few encouraging opportunities, Porto couldn't find the finish they desperately needed.
Arsenal remained calm.
Patient.
Professional.
Then, just before half-time, came another moment of brilliance.
Forty-three minutes.
Francesco collected possession just inside Porto's half.
At first, nothing appeared available.
Then he turned.
One sharp touch carried him beyond André André.
Another took him away from Bruno Costa.
The crowd sensed something.
Felipe stepped forward.
Francesco shifted the ball inside before accelerating between two defenders.
The Emirates rose together.
Reyes lunged.
Too late.
Francesco skipped past him with remarkable balance before entering the penalty area.
Casillas advanced.
For a split second, the stadium held its breath.
Then Francesco calmly lifted the ball beyond the goalkeeper with the outside of his right boot.
Time seemed to stop.
The ball floated gently before dropping into the empty net.
Goal.
Arsenal 2-0 Porto.
Aggregate: 8-0.
The Emirates exploded once more.
Francesco sprinted toward the corner flag before sliding across the turf, his fists clenched in celebration.
Alexis reached him first.
"What a goal!"
Walker arrived moments later laughing in disbelief.
"You beat half their team!"
Francesco was almost buried beneath celebrating teammates.
Even Wenger allowed himself a broad smile on the touchline.
That goal had been created by one player alone.
Pure instinct.
Pure confidence.
Moments later Michael Oliver checked his watch.
One sharp whistle echoed across the stadium.
Half-time.
Arsenal 2-0 Porto.
Aggregate: 8-0.
The players disappeared beneath the stands once again.
Inside the dressing room, the atmosphere remained composed despite the comfortable scoreline.
Nobody celebrated qualification.
Not yet.
Francesco sat quietly removing his gloves while taking a long drink of water.
Wenger walked toward the centre of the room before speaking.
"Excellent first half."
He looked around at every player.
"We controlled the game."
"We controlled the tempo."
"And we never allowed them to believe."
He nodded approvingly.
"Now we continue in exactly the same manner."
He pointed toward the tactics board.
"Play steadily."
"Do not force unnecessary attacks."
"If opportunities come, take them."
"If they don't…"
"We keep possession."
Finally, his expression became slightly more serious.
"And one more thing."
The players listened carefully.
"Avoid getting injured."
"We have a long season still ahead of us."
"There is no need for reckless challenges."
"No unnecessary risks."
He looked around the dressing room one last time.
"Finish the job professionally."
"Then we think about the quarter-finals."
The room remained silent for a moment before every player nodded in agreement.
Forty-five minutes remained.
The players returned from the tunnel with the same calm expression they had worn throughout the first half.
There was no excitement about the aggregate score.
No hint of complacency.
Just quiet concentration.
As they stepped back onto the pitch, the Champions League anthem had long since faded, replaced by the familiar murmur of more than sixty thousand supporters settling back into their seats.
The scoreboard showed Arsenal leading 2–0 on the night.
Eight goals ahead on aggregate.
But inside the Arsenal ranks, the message from the dressing room remained clear.
Finish the job professionally.
Michael Oliver glanced at both captains before raising the whistle to his lips.
A sharp blast echoed around the Emirates.
The second half began.
Porto immediately pushed higher.
Sérgio Conceição had clearly challenged his players at the interval.
Qualification had slipped beyond reach long ago, but pride remained.
No professional footballer wanted to leave Europe's biggest competition without showing a response.
Jesús Corona drifted inside more frequently, trying to create overloads in midfield.
Óliver Torres demanded possession whenever possible, while Bruno Costa looked to switch play quickly from flank to flank.
Aboubakar continued making aggressive runs between Van Dijk and Koscielny, hoping that just once Arsenal's defensive line would lose its concentration.
It never happened.
Arsenal simply refused to panic.
Exactly as Wenger had instructed.
Rather than forcing attacks, they circulated possession patiently.
Čech rolled the ball out to Van Dijk.
Van Dijk found Xhaka.
Xhaka switched play to Robertson.
Back to Koscielny.
Then Kanté.
Every pass carried purpose.
Not urgency.
Porto chased.
Arsenal waited.
The crowd appreciated every passing sequence.
Each completed move drew another ripple of applause from the stands.
Walker smiled as he received another pass from Gnabry.
"They're working hard."
"They have to," Xhaka replied.
"But they can't chase forever."
Mesut Özil floated effortlessly between Porto's midfield lines, almost impossible to mark.
Whenever André André stepped toward him, space appeared elsewhere.
Whenever Felipe pushed forward, Francesco drifted into the gap.
It was football played with intelligence rather than speed.
On the touchline, Wenger remained almost motionless.
His hands rested inside the pockets of his long coat as he quietly watched every movement.
Beside him, Steve Bould nodded with satisfaction.
"They're managing it well."
Wenger answered without taking his eyes off the pitch.
"They understand."
"They're thinking."
"That's what I wanted."
Porto still created moments.
In the fifty-third minute, Corona skipped past Robertson before whipping a dangerous cross toward the near post.
Aboubakar rose highest.
His header seemed destined for the corner.
Čech reacted instinctively.
A strong right hand pushed the ball around the post.
The Emirates applauded loudly.
Van Dijk jogged over.
"Brilliant save."
Čech simply nodded.
"Stay switched on."
From the resulting corner, Porto again threatened.
Felipe met the delivery cleanly, but Koscielny's positioning was perfect.
The Arsenal captain for so many seasons cleared decisively before Kanté gathered the loose ball and calmly slowed the game once again.
Patience.
Everything about Arsenal's performance reflected that single word.
Time slowly slipped away from Porto.
Every minute increased the frustration visible on the visitors' faces.
Casillas encouraged his teammates constantly.
"Keep going."
"One goal."
"Come on."
The legendary goalkeeper refused to allow standards to drop despite the impossible task facing his side.
Then, just after the hour mark, Arsenal produced another moment of quality.
It began with Alexis.
The Chilean collected possession near the halfway line before spinning away from Diego Reyes with typical determination.
Rather than driving alone, he lifted his head.
Francesco had already started his run.
Alexis threaded a perfectly weighted pass into the space between Felipe and Dalot.
Francesco accelerated immediately.
One touch carried him beyond Felipe.
Another pushed him inside the penalty area.
Casillas advanced quickly, trying to narrow the angle.
The striker stayed wonderfully composed.
Instead of striking early, he waited for the goalkeeper to commit.
Then, with remarkable calm, he slid the ball low beyond Casillas' outstretched boot.
The net rippled.
Goal.
Arsenal 3–0 Porto.
Aggregate:
9–0.
For a brief second, the Emirates simply admired what they had witnessed.
Then the stadium erupted.
Scarves flew into the air.
Supporters leapt from their seats.
Francesco spread his arms before pointing toward Alexis.
"You saw it."
Alexis laughed as he embraced him.
"You finished it."
Walker arrived moments later, shaking his head.
"A hat-trick."
"You've made this look far too easy."
Francesco smiled.
"It definitely wasn't."
Gnabry wrapped an arm around his captain's shoulders.
"Three tonight."
"Not bad."
The supporters answered with a deafening chant.
"Francesco!"
"Francesco!"
"Francesco!"
High in the directors' box, Arsenal legends applauded respectfully.
Another Champions League night.
Another unforgettable performance.
On the touchline, Wenger applauded briefly before turning toward his bench.
His decision had already been made.
There was no reason to take unnecessary risks.
The fourth official prepared the electronic board.
Francesco.
Mesut Özil.
Alexis Sánchez.
Coming off.
Olivier Giroud.
Jack Wilshere.
Santi Cazorla.
The Emirates rose together.
Francesco applauded every corner of the stadium as he jogged toward the touchline.
His evening's work was complete.
A Champions League hat-trick.
Captain.
Another standing ovation.
As he approached Wenger, the manager extended his hand.
"Excellent."
Francesco smiled.
"Thank you, boss."
"You played exactly the match we needed."
"I just followed the plan."
Wenger nodded.
"And you followed it very well."
Özil and Alexis received equally warm applause as they left the field.
Wilshere immediately embraced Özil before stepping onto the pitch.
"I'll take over."
Mesut smiled.
"I know you will."
At almost the same moment, Sérgio Conceição made his own changes.
André André left the field after an industrious evening.
Majeed Waris also departed.
On came Sérgio Oliveira and Ricardo Pereira.
Fresh legs.
Fresh determination.
Even with the tie beyond recovery, Porto refused to stop competing.
The match settled into a calmer rhythm.
Arsenal no longer forced attacks.
Wilshere and Cazorla immediately began controlling possession with short, intelligent passing.
Every time Porto tried to increase the tempo, one of them slowed it again.
A simple turn.
A quick pass.
Another recycled move.
The visitors chased shadows once more.
Giroud battled impressively with Felipe, winning aerial duels that allowed Arsenal to push higher up the pitch.
Saka, Ramsey and several substitutes watched from the bench, applauding every successful sequence.
Walker eventually glanced toward Wilshere.
"You've hardly lost the ball."
Jack grinned.
"I'm trying not to."
"You've made my job easier."
"That's the idea."
The minutes disappeared.
Seventy-five.
Seventy-eight.
Porto still searched for a consolation goal.
Corona remained lively.
Ricardo Pereira added fresh energy down the right.
But Arsenal's defensive organisation barely wavered.
Van Dijk dominated in the air.
Koscielny anticipated danger superbly.
Robertson tracked every overlapping run.
Kanté seemed to appear wherever the ball happened to fall.
The French midfielder intercepted passes that looked impossible to reach.
Several Porto players simply shook their heads.
He seemed to be everywhere.
In the eighty-first minute, Conceição made his final substitution.
Vincent Aboubakar, who had worked tirelessly all evening despite limited service, received respectful applause from both sets of supporters as he walked off.
Replacing him came Gonçalo Paciência.
The young striker immediately looked to stretch Arsenal's defence with energetic running.
But by now Arsenal had complete control.
The tempo suited them perfectly.
Every player understood exactly when to press and when to slow the match.
Then, four minutes from time, they struck one final time.
The move started with Wilshere.
Collecting possession inside his own half, he turned away from Sérgio Oliveira before accelerating into midfield.
The crowd sensed an opportunity.
Wilshere carried the ball thirty yards before slipping a beautifully timed pass toward Giroud.
The French striker received it with his back to goal.
Felipe pressed tightly behind him.
Giroud held him off with impressive strength.
One quick touch.
He spun.
Suddenly he was through.
Casillas rushed forward.
Giroud stayed calm.
His finish rolled confidently into the bottom corner.
Goal.
Arsenal 4–0 Porto.
Aggregate:
10–0.
The Emirates celebrated once again.
Giroud punched the air before pointing immediately toward Wilshere.
"What a pass!"
Jack laughed.
"I knew you'd finish it."
The entire Arsenal bench applauded enthusiastically.
Francesco stood with the substitutes, clapping loudly.
"Brilliant, Oli!"
Giroud pointed back toward him.
"Now we're even."
The final minutes passed almost serenely.
Porto continued trying to attack, but Arsenal refused to lose their concentration.
Every clearance found a teammate.
Every tackle was clean.
Every pass was measured.
Wenger occasionally called instructions from the touchline.
"Stay focused."
"Keep the shape."
"No unnecessary risks."
The players obeyed every instruction.
As stoppage time arrived, the home supporters rose to their feet once more.
They sensed another memorable European night drawing to its conclusion.
"Come on Arsenal!"
The chant rolled around every stand.
Michael Oliver glanced at his watch.
One final look across the pitch.
Then came three sharp blasts of the whistle.
Full-time.
Arsenal 4–0 Porto.
10–0 on aggregate.
For a heartbeat, the Emirates simply absorbed the moment.
Then the celebrations began.
The Arsenal players embraced one another in the centre circle.
Čech hugged Koscielny.
Walker wrapped an arm around Robertson's shoulders.
Kanté smiled quietly as Wilshere congratulated him on another tireless performance.
Giroud found Francesco first.
"Hattrick."
Francesco laughed.
"And a goal for you."
"I couldn't let you have all the fun."
Nearby, Wenger walked across to Sérgio Conceição.
The two managers shook hands warmly.
"Congratulations," Conceição said.
"You deserved qualification."
Wenger nodded respectfully.
"Thank you."
"I wish you the best for the rest of your season."
Casillas also sought out Francesco before leaving the pitch.
The veteran goalkeeper smiled.
"You were clinical tonight."
"Thank you," Francesco replied sincerely.
"It was an honour playing against you."
Casillas placed a hand briefly on his shoulder.
"Keep working."
"You have a very bright future."
Those words meant almost as much as the three goals.
As Porto disappeared down the tunnel, Arsenal gathered near the North Bank.
Francesco, still wearing the captain's armband, motioned for his teammates to join him.
Together, they walked toward the supporters.
Thousands of scarves were raised once more.
The applause between players and fans lasted several minutes.
There was joy, certainly.
But there was something else as well.
Belief.
Arsenal had not merely reached the Champions League quarter-finals.
They had done so in emphatic fashion, winning 10–0 across two legs against a respected European opponent.
Their unbeaten momentum continued.
The Carabao Cup had already been secured.
The Premier League challenge remained alive.
The FA Cup still awaited.
And now, Arsenal's name would be in the draw for the Champions League quarter-finals.
______________________________________________
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, 2016/2017 Champions League, and 2017/2018 Carabao Cup.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 44
Goal: 54
Assist: 6
MOTM: 5
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 2
Goal: 2
Assist: 0
MOTM: 1
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