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And this time, England knew they would have to be even better.
Then the day of the semi-final finally arrived.
There was no need for an alarm this time.
Nobody in the England squad needed reminding what was waiting for them.
By the time Francesco stepped onto the team transport, the atmosphere around Saint Petersburg had already changed.
The city seemed to know.
Every road leading toward the stadium carried supporters wearing national colours. England flags hung from shoulders and waved above crowds. French supporters moved in groups, blue shirts and tricolours filling the streets around them. Songs echoed between buildings. Chants rose and fell in waves.
People took photographs of one another.
Children held flags almost as large as themselves.
Supporters leaned out of windows.
Some shouted encouragement whenever the England bus came into view.
Others simply stood there, watching.
It was one of those rare football mornings when an entire city seemed to understand that something important was about to happen.
Inside the bus, however, the mood was much quieter.
Francesco sat beside the window.
He watched the supporters pass.
An England flag appeared.
Then another.
Then a cluster of French fans singing together.
He could hear muffled sounds through the glass, but the windows kept most of the noise outside.
Kane sat a few rows behind him.
Henderson was speaking quietly with one of the coaches.
Maguire had his headphones on.
Nobody looked frightened.
But nobody looked relaxed either.
Francesco rested his forehead lightly against the window.
Brazil had been enormous.
France felt different.
Not necessarily because of the name.
Because now there was no hiding from what was at stake.
Win, and England would play for the World Cup.
Lose, and everything they had worked toward would end one match short of the final.
He took a slow breath.
The bus turned.
Saint Petersburg Stadium appeared ahead.
Francesco straightened.
There it was.
The stadium.
The biggest match of their lives was waiting inside.
As England entered through the players' entrance and moved directly toward the dressing room.
The familiar routine began immediately.
Bags down.
Training tops on.
Boots checked.
Tape applied.
Water bottles prepared.
Nobody needed to explain what came next.
The players changed into their training kits and headed toward the pitch.
The stadium was already beginning to fill.
The sound was enormous.
England supporters occupied one side.
French supporters answered from the other.
Flags moved constantly through the stands.
The noise grew every few minutes as more people entered.
Cameras and media crews lined the touchline.
Photographers crouched behind barriers.
The players tried not to look at them.
They had done this before.
But this was different.
This was a World Cup semi-final.
The warm-up began.
Stretching first.
Mobility work.
Short movements.
Then jogging.
The coaches watched carefully.
Nobody was allowed to waste energy.
The objective wasn't to impress anyone.
It was to make the body ready.
Francesco worked through the routine beside Kane.
A few short accelerations.
Change of direction.
Quick feet.
Then passing.
One touch.
Two touch.
Move.
Receive.
Turn.
Again.
The rhythm became faster.
Kane played the ball into Francesco's feet.
Francesco returned it.
Kane immediately moved beyond him.
The pass came back.
"Good," Kane said.
Francesco nodded.
They continued.
Crossing drills followed.
Trippier and Rose delivered balls from the wide areas while Kane, Francesco and Alli attacked different spaces.
At the other end, Pickford worked with the goalkeeping staff.
Low saves.
High saves.
Crosses.
Punches.
The goalkeeper shouted instructions constantly.
"Again!"
The final phase was short tactical movement.
Press.
Drop.
Shift.
Recover.
Nobody wanted to burn themselves out.
When the warm-up finally ended, Francesco turned toward the stands.
The England players applauded the supporters.
The response was thunderous.
Francesco smiled.
Then he pointed toward the England end.
The players turned and headed back inside.
Then the dressing room was quieter.
Showers were quick.
Nobody lingered.
The players changed into their official England kits.
Shirts.
Shorts.
Socks.
Boots.
Protective equipment.
Tape.
Everything had to be right.
Francesco tightened his laces and looked around.
The familiar faces were there.
Kane.
Henderson.
Alli.
Lingard.
Trippier.
Maguire.
Stones.
Walker.
Rose.
Everyone.
Southgate entered.
The room immediately settled.
He stood in front of the tactical board.
"Our starting eleven is unchanged."
A few players nodded.
The same team that had beaten Brazil would face France.
No surprises.
No last-minute alterations.
Then Southgate turned toward the screen.
France appeared.
Hugo Lloris.
Lucas Hernandez.
Samuel Umtiti.
Raphaël Varane.
Benjamin Pavard.
Paul Pogba.
N'Golo Kanté.
Blaise Matuidi.
Antoine Griezmann.
Kylian Mbappé.
Olivier Giroud.
Southgate let the image remain on the screen.
"This is a very different opponent."
He pointed toward the defensive line.
"They are organised. They don't give much away."
Then toward midfield.
"Pogba and Kanté can control the rhythm. Matuidi gives them movement and work rate."
He moved his hand higher.
"Griezmann finds spaces between the lines."
Then Mbappé.
"Speed."
Nobody smiled.
"Serious speed."
Southgate looked toward the defenders.
"If you give him space, he attacks it."
Then Giroud.
"Physical presence. He'll challenge you for everything."
Southgate stepped away from the screen.
"They have technical quality. They have strength. They can defend in numbers. And when they win the ball, they transition quickly."
He looked at every player.
"They may be harder to break down than Japan or Brazil."
The room became completely silent.
"So discipline matters."
He pointed toward Francesco.
"Communication."
Then Henderson.
"Compactness."
Then Kane.
"Intelligent movement."
He looked around again.
"We have worked for this."
His voice softened.
"Don't throw it away by trying to win the game in the first ten minutes."
A few players exchanged glances.
"Be brave."
Pause.
"But don't be reckless."
Southgate continued.
"Trust the work. Move the ball. Attack when the opening is there. And when we lose it?"
Everyone knew the answer.
"React."
"Immediately," Southgate said.
He looked toward the floor before raising his eyes again.
"This match won't be won through emotion alone."
His voice became firmer.
"Composure will matter just as much as courage."
Francesco felt the words settle over the room.
Southgate stepped back.
"Let's go."
The players stood together.
Chairs moved.
Boots struck the floor.
Henderson reached out and touched Francesco's shoulder.
"Together."
Francesco nodded.
"Together."
They walked into the corridor.
Then Francesco stood at the front of the England line.
The captain's armband was clearly visible.
Opposite them, the French players waited.
Lloris stood near the front.
The atmosphere in the tunnel was almost surreal.
A young mascot stood beside Francesco.
The child looked excited.
And slightly overwhelmed.
Francesco looked down.
The youngster looked up at him.
Francesco smiled.
"You all right?"
The child nodded.
Francesco squeezed his hand gently.
"Enjoy it."
The boy smiled.
Then the line began moving.
The tunnel opened.
Sound crashed into them.
Saint Petersburg Stadium erupted.
England supporters sang at full volume.
French supporters answered immediately.
Flags waved.
Drums beat.
The entire stadium seemed to vibrate.
Francesco stepped onto the pitch.
For half a second, he felt the weight of it.
Then he pushed the feeling aside.
He had a job to do.
The teams formed their single-file lines facing the stands.
Then moved into position.
Shoulder to shoulder.
The national anthem began.
England stood together.
Francesco remained proudly at the front, the captain's armband visible beneath the stadium lights.
Some players sang.
Others stood silently but respectfully.
Then came France's anthem.
Lloris stood tall.
The French players looked equally focused.
When it ended, the teams moved into the customary handshakes.
Francesco greeted Lloris.
Varane.
Umtiti.
Pogba.
Kanté.
Griezmann.
Giroud.
Mbappé.
Respectful words passed quietly between opponents.
Then came the photographs.
The England starting eleven stood together.
Francesco in the centre.
Kane beside him.
The unchanged lineup behind and around them.
Flash.
Another.
Another.
Photographers shouted for them to look toward different cameras.
Then the players separated.
The moment was over.
Now came football.
Then Francesco and Lloris walked toward the referee.
The coin was ready.
The referee looked between them.
"Call."
Lloris answered.
"Right."
The coin went into the air.
It spun beneath the lights.
Dropped.
France had won the toss.
They would kick off.
Francesco shook Lloris's hand.
"Good luck."
"You too."
He returned to his teammates.
Kane looked at him.
Francesco gathered everyone close.
"One thing."
The players listened.
"Stay together."
He looked around.
"Trust yourselves."
The whistle sounded.
France kicked off.
And immediately, the match felt enormous.
There was no cautious opening.
No period where either side simply settled.
France moved the ball quickly.
England pressed intelligently.
Pogba tried to dictate.
Henderson stepped toward him.
Kanté moved to cover.
Francesco dropped between the French midfield and defence.
Kane came short.
Mbappé suddenly exploded into space.
Walker matched him.
The England defender stayed level and forced him wide.
The cross came.
Maguire headed away.
The French supporters roared anyway.
England countered.
Kane received.
He turned.
Francesco moved beyond him.
Kane released the ball.
Varane intercepted.
The French defender immediately found Kanté.
The midfield battle was brutal.
Every metre mattered.
Pogba's physical strength against Henderson's positioning.
Kanté's relentless movement against England's attempts to play through the middle.
Matuidi constantly found pockets.
Griezmann drifted between the lines.
Mbappé waited for the smallest mistake.
Giroud leaned into Stones and Maguire at every opportunity.
At the other end, Rose and Trippier pushed forward when they could.
Francesco kept moving.
Left.
Right.
Deep.
High.
Every time he tried to disappear behind the midfield, Kanté seemed to notice.
Every time he moved toward the wing, a French defender shifted.
It was like trying to find a door in a wall that kept moving.
Then England nearly found one.
Henderson won possession.
He played toward Kane.
Kane controlled and turned.
Francesco ran.
The pass arrived.
One touch.
Shot.
Lloris saved.
The French goalkeeper dropped low and held it.
Francesco nodded.
"Good save."
Minutes later, France answered.
Griezmann slipped into space.
A pass reached Mbappé.
The French forward accelerated.
Walker recovered.
Mbappé shot from an angle.
Pickford blocked.
The rebound fell dangerously.
Stones cleared.
The England supporters roared.
Neither side could breathe.
Varane blocked Kane.
Maguire challenged Giroud.
Rose intercepted a French cross.
Pavard stopped Lingard.
Umtiti stepped in front of Alli.
Trippier cleared under pressure.
Another French attack.
Pogba shot.
Pickford saved.
England countered.
Lloris denied Francesco and Kane again.
Forty minutes passed.
Still 0–0.
And nobody was bored.
Nobody even had time to be.
Every tackle produced a reaction.
Every save brought a roar.
Every sprint drew a gasp.
The supporters were giving everything.
England sang.
France answered.
The stadium became a constant wall of sound.
Then came the forty-third minute.
England won the ball in midfield.
Henderson moved it forward.
Kane received under pressure.
He held off Umtiti long enough to find Francesco.
Francesco took the ball outside the penalty area.
Varane stepped toward him.
Kanté closed from behind.
There wasn't much space.
Francesco shifted the ball onto his preferred foot.
One touch.
Then another.
He created the smallest opening.
Kanté lunged.
Too late.
Francesco struck.
The ball rose.
Curled.
Moved away from Lloris.
The French goalkeeper stretched.
He couldn't reach it.
The ball kissed the inside of the far side of the net.
Goal.
England 1–0 France.
For a heartbeat, Francesco didn't move.
Then the England end exploded.
Francesco turned and sprinted.
Kane was already chasing him.
Henderson.
Alli.
Lingard.
Trippier.
Everyone.
Francesco slid toward the corner, arms spread wide.
The supporters were screaming his name.
"FRANCESCO!"
"FRANCESCO!"
The cameras followed him.
His teammates crashed into him.
Kane grabbed his shoulders.
"What a goal!"
Francesco was laughing.
"I saw the space!"
Henderson wrapped an arm around him.
"Brilliant!"
Trippier shouted over everyone.
"Again!"
Francesco looked toward him.
"You're not taking credit for this one!"
Trippier laughed.
The commentary from the broadcast erupted over the noise, marvelling at the audacity of the strike, the curl, the distance, and the moment in which England's captain had found something special when nothing else had separated the two sides.
For a few seconds, it felt as though the entire stadium belonged to England.
Then Francesco looked at the clock.
There was still time.
"Back!"
He pointed toward halfway.
"Come on!"
The players returned.
France restarted with renewed urgency.
The remaining minutes became tense.
Griezmann demanded the ball.
Mbappé attacked Walker again.
Pogba pushed forward.
Giroud challenged for a cross.
Maguire won it.
Stones cleared.
England survived another attack.
The referee eventually raised his whistle.
Half-time.
England 1–0 France.
Francesco walked toward the tunnel breathing heavily.
The goal had given them the advantage.
But nothing about the match felt safe.
France knew it too.
Inside the dressing room, players drank immediately.
Water bottles were passed around.
Kane sat with his elbows on his knees.
Henderson breathed deeply.
Maguire wiped his face with a towel.
Francesco stood for a moment, still processing the first half.
Southgate entered.
"Well done."
The players looked up.
"That was composed football."
He glanced toward Francesco.
"And that was an outstanding finish."
Francesco nodded.
But Southgate's expression remained serious.
"Don't mistake one goal for control of the match."
Nobody spoke.
"France will come at us."
He pointed toward the tactical board.
"When they push forward, spaces will appear."
Kane looked up.
"We attack them?"
"Yes."
Southgate nodded.
"But intelligently."
He continued.
"Keep the ball when we can. Make them run. If the opening appears, attack it."
Then his voice hardened.
"And when we lose possession?"
"React," Henderson answered.
"Immediately."
Southgate nodded.
"Every attacker."
His eyes moved around the room.
"Everyone defends the transition."
Francesco listened carefully.
Nobody could switch off.
Nobody could assume the lead was enough.
Southgate stepped back.
"We have forty-five minutes."
Francesco looked around the room.
His teammates were exhausted.
But their eyes were clear.
He reached for the captain's armband and tightened it around his arm.
Then he stood.
"Come on."
Kane rose.
Henderson followed.
One by one, the rest of the team stood with them.
France were waiting.
The second half was about to begin.
Then the players stepped back onto the pitch together.
The tunnel seemed shorter this time.
Perhaps because nobody wanted to spend another second away from the game.
Perhaps because the noise from Saint Petersburg Stadium was already pulling them forward.
Francesco emerged first.
The captain's armband was tight around his arm.
Behind him came Kane, Henderson, Lingard, Trippier, Alli and the rest of the England players.
Across the pitch, France were already moving into position.
There was no sense of panic among them.
But there was urgency.
They had forty-five minutes to save their World Cup.
England had forty-five minutes to reach the final.
The referee checked his watch.
Players took their positions.
Francesco looked toward Henderson.
The midfielder nodded.
"Together."
Francesco nodded back.
The whistle sounded.
France came forward immediately.
No hesitation.
Pogba received the opening pass and drove into midfield, with Kanté moving alongside him and Griezmann drifting into the space behind England's midfield.
Henderson stepped across.
"Stay compact!"
England's shape shifted together.
Walker moved inward.
Stones dropped.
Maguire kept his position.
Rose tucked closer.
Trippier did the same on the opposite side.
France circulated the ball.
One pass.
Two.
Three.
Then Griezmann suddenly turned.
Mbappé accelerated down the left.
Walker was already moving.
The French forward pushed the ball beyond him and sprinted.
Walker matched him stride for stride.
Mbappé crossed.
Maguire rose.
Header.
Clear.
The England supporters roared.
Francesco immediately turned toward his teammates.
"Stay calm!"
France recovered the ball.
Pogba tried again.
This time Henderson challenged him shoulder to shoulder.
The ball broke loose.
Francesco collected it.
He looked up.
Sterling was not yet on the pitch, but Lingard was already sprinting into space.
Francesco released him.
Lingard carried the ball toward the French penalty area.
Varane stepped across.
Lingard tried to cut inside.
Kanté appeared.
The chance disappeared.
France countered.
It was becoming relentless.
There was no rhythm anymore.
Only transitions.
England attacked.
France defended.
France attacked.
England defended.
The stadium responded to every movement.
Griezmann found a pocket between Henderson and the defenders.
He received.
Turned.
Shot.
Pickford saved.
The ball bounced loose.
Stones threw himself toward it.
"Clear it!"
The defender smashed it away.
Pickford shouted.
"Good!"
France pressed again.
Kanté recovered the second ball.
Pogba received.
A cross was sent toward Giroud.
Maguire challenged him.
The two collided heavily.
The ball fell behind them.
Rose arrived first.
He cleared.
Francesco clapped his hands.
"Good!"
The England captain was everywhere now.
He dropped into midfield.
Then moved forward.
Then drifted wide.
Whenever France pushed, he helped close passing lanes.
Whenever England recovered possession, he immediately looked for the counter.
Kane did the same.
He dropped deep to receive.
Francesco ran beyond him.
Kane turned.
Passed.
Francesco controlled.
Umtiti stepped in.
The French defender blocked the route.
Francesco smiled faintly.
"Not today."
He retreated.
There were still more than twenty minutes before the decisive moment.
France were getting closer.
England could feel it.
Southgate stood on the touchline, constantly communicating.
"Stay together!"
"Don't chase!"
"Keep the distances!"
The players listened.
They had spent days preparing for exactly this.
France were dangerous because they wanted England to lose their shape.
So England refused.
Then, in the 67th minute, everything changed.
Henderson intercepted a French pass.
The ball came loose in midfield.
For a fraction of a second, France were exposed.
Henderson looked up.
Kane was already moving.
The England captain's run began between Varane and Umtiti.
Henderson saw it.
He didn't hesitate.
He slid a perfectly weighted pass through the gap.
Kane reached it.
One touch.
The ball sat beautifully in front of him.
Lloris came off his line.
Kane remained calm.
No panic.
No unnecessary touch.
He opened his body and guided the finish beyond the French goalkeeper.
The ball rolled into the net.
2–0.
For one second, the stadium seemed unable to process what had happened.
Then England exploded.
Kane turned toward the supporters.
His arms went wide.
He sprinted.
Francesco was already chasing him.
Henderson followed.
Lingard.
Alli.
Trippier.
Maguire.
Everyone.
Kane dropped to his knees near the corner.
Francesco reached him first.
He grabbed him and pulled him into an embrace.
"Harry!"
Kane laughed, almost breathless.
"We're going to the final!"
Francesco squeezed him again.
"Brilliant finish!"
Henderson arrived.
"That pass!"
Kane pointed at him.
"Perfect."
Henderson grinned.
For a few seconds, England forgot everything else.
The supporters were screaming.
Flags were flying.
Kane's name echoed around Saint Petersburg Stadium.
But Southgate was already shouting from the touchline.
"Focus!"
Francesco heard him.
He turned toward the pitch.
"Come on!"
They had a two-goal lead.
But France were not finished.
Not even close.
Three minutes later, Southgate made his decision.
The fourth official raised the board.
Kane off.
Lingard off.
Sterling on.
Rooney on.
The England supporters rose.
The applause was enormous.
Kane walked toward the sideline slowly, acknowledging every section of the crowd.
Francesco met him.
They embraced.
"You've done your job."
Kane smiled.
"Finish it."
Francesco nodded.
"We will."
Rooney stepped onto the pitch.
He looked toward Francesco.
"Let's keep it simple."
Francesco smiled.
"That's the plan."
Sterling jogged into position.
Fresh legs.
Fresh pace.
Exactly what England needed.
France responded immediately.
Deschamps made two substitutions.
Giroud came off.
Matuidi followed.
Ousmane Dembélé entered.
Then Tolisso.
France had become even more mobile.
They were no longer relying on Giroud's physical presence.
Now they had movement everywhere.
The pressure increased.
Mbappé attacked from the right.
Dembélé switched sides.
Griezmann dropped deeper.
Pogba pushed forward.
Tolisso joined him.
England were being forced back.
"Stay together!" Henderson shouted.
Rooney received the ball.
He slowed everything down.
One touch.
Another.
He played it back to Henderson.
Henderson moved it sideways.
England breathed.
Then Sterling broke forward.
A French attack had been stopped.
Francesco received the clearance and immediately sent the ball into Sterling's path.
The winger accelerated.
Pavard chased.
Sterling reached the edge of the box.
He crossed.
Varane cleared.
The England supporters applauded.
That was the threat.
England didn't need to dominate.
They needed to survive intelligently.
France continued attacking.
Pogba sent a dangerous ball into the area.
Maguire headed away.
Another cross.
Stones cleared.
Another shot.
Pickford saved.
Then another.
Blocked by Walker.
England were throwing themselves between France and the goal.
Francesco tracked back until his legs felt heavy.
His lungs burned.
His shirt was soaked.
But every time France came forward, he ran.
He couldn't afford not to.
Then came the 81st minute.
France won a corner.
The French supporters rose.
England's defenders gathered inside the penalty area.
Francesco marked the edge.
Pogba walked toward the corner flag.
The delivery came in.
High.
Fast.
Dangerous.
Players collided.
Maguire jumped.
Stones jumped.
Umtiti rose above everyone.
His forehead connected cleanly.
The ball flew toward the net.
Pickford stretched.
Too late.
Goal.
England 2–1 France.
The French end erupted.
Umtiti ran toward the corner.
His teammates followed.
The atmosphere changed instantly.
The England supporters had gone silent.
For the first time since Kane's goal, uncertainty returned.
Francesco looked toward the centre circle.
"Come on."
Henderson was already clapping.
"Reset!"
Southgate stood on the touchline.
"Calm!"
He pointed toward his players.
"Calm!"
Francesco gathered Henderson and Rooney.
"Forget the goal."
Henderson nodded.
"We're still ahead."
Rooney looked at them.
"Keep the ball."
Francesco turned.
"Together."
The restart came.
France pressed immediately.
Griezmann chased.
Dembélé sprinted.
Mbappé pushed high.
England struggled to escape.
Henderson received under pressure.
He passed to Rooney.
Rooney took one touch and drew a foul.
The whistle went.
The England supporters cheered.
Rooney stood slowly.
"That's better."
Francesco smiled.
Every second mattered now.
France attacked again.
Dembélé beat Rose.
Cross.
Walker cleared.
Pogba collected the rebound.
He sent another ball into the box.
Maguire won it.
Clear.
Griezmann tried from distance.
Pickford saved.
The goalkeeper held the ball against his chest.
He stayed down for a second.
Then stood.
"Come on!"
England's supporters responded.
The final minutes became almost unbearable.
France kept coming.
England kept resisting.
Sterling remained high, waiting.
Francesco stayed between the lines, ready to counter.
One clearance reached him.
He controlled.
Two French players closed.
Francesco turned away.
Played back to Henderson.
Henderson moved it to Rooney.
Rooney carried it toward the corner.
He waited.
Waited.
Then won another foul.
The England supporters loved it.
"That's it!" Southgate shouted.
But France refused to surrender.
Mbappé received wide.
Walker followed.
Mbappé tried to cut inside.
Walker blocked him.
The ball went out.
France corner.
Again.
The cross came.
Stones headed away.
Another corner.
Pickford punched.
Another attack.
Tolisso shot.
Henderson threw himself in front of it.
The ball struck him.
He remained on the ground for a moment.
Francesco ran over.
"You all right?"
Henderson nodded.
"Yeah."
He pushed himself up.
"Keep going."
The clock moved.
88 minutes.
The fourth official raised the board.
Four minutes of stoppage time.
Four minutes between England and the World Cup final.
The French supporters were making everything they had left.
Their chants rolled around the stadium.
The England supporters answered.
Francesco looked toward the stands.
Then toward his teammates.
"Four minutes."
Maguire nodded.
"Let's finish it."
France attacked.
Griezmann found space.
He crossed.
Rose cleared.
Dembélé recovered.
Another cross.
Trippier headed away.
Pogba picked it up.
Long shot.
Pickford saved.
The rebound bounced toward Mbappé.
Walker arrived first.
He cleared.
The roar was deafening.
England had perhaps thirty seconds.
France were still coming.
Francesco received near halfway.
He could have tried to run.
Instead he protected the ball.
Two French players closed.
He shielded it.
A foul.
Whistle.
England breathed again.
Francesco stood.
He looked toward the clock.
93 minutes.
One minute left.
The free kick was taken short.
Rooney received.
He moved it back to Henderson.
Henderson carried it toward the corner.
France chased.
He won another foul.
The England players gathered around him.
Southgate was screaming instructions.
"Stay switched on!"
The ball was eventually sent forward.
France had one final opportunity.
Pogba launched it.
Maguire rose.
Header.
Clear.
The ball bounced toward Tolisso.
He struck it.
Blocked.
The referee looked at his watch.
Then raised the whistle.
One final breath.
Then.
FULL TIME.
England 2–1 France.
For a moment, Francesco simply stood there.
He didn't move.
He stared toward the pitch.
Then the meaning finally reached him.
England had won.
England were going to the World Cup final.
Henderson screamed.
He threw both arms into the air.
Rooney did the same.
Pickford dropped to his knees.
Maguire grabbed Stones.
Walker embraced Rose.
Trippier collapsed laughing.
Sterling sprinted toward the England supporters, punching the air.
The substitutes poured onto the pitch.
Francesco was suddenly surrounded.
Someone grabbed him from behind.
Then another.
Then another.
"WE'RE IN THE FINAL!"
Francesco laughed.
"We did it!"
Kane reached him.
They embraced.
Kane shouted into his ear.
"You're going to the final!"
Francesco pulled him closer.
"So are you!"
Henderson arrived next.
The two captains of the moment hugged tightly.
"That was horrible," Henderson laughed.
Francesco nodded.
"Absolutely horrible."
"But we're there."
"We're there."
Trippier came running over.
"Captain!"
Francesco turned.
Trippier threw his arms around him.
"Final!"
Alli joined.
Then Lingard.
Then Maguire.
The circle kept growing.
Nobody wanted to let go.
Across the pitch, France stood devastated.
They had given everything.
England had simply survived the final assault.
Francesco eventually looked toward Southgate.
The manager stood near the touchline with his coaching staff.
They embraced.
Southgate closed his eyes for a moment.
Then he laughed.
The pressure of the previous weeks seemed to disappear from his face.
He walked toward his players.
Francesco met him.
Southgate placed both hands on his shoulders.
"You led them brilliantly."
Francesco shook his head.
"We all did."
Southgate smiled.
"That's why we're here."
Around them, England continued celebrating.
The supporters were still singing.
The noise seemed impossible.
Francesco slowly turned toward the stands.
Flags.
Scarves.
Tears.
Smiles.
People embracing strangers.
Children sitting on shoulders.
And then he heard it.
His name.
"FRANCESCO!"
The chant grew.
"FRANCESCO!"
He stood still.
The sound washed over him.
Japan.
Brazil.
France.
Three knockout matches.
Three enormous tests.
And now England were one match away.
One match.
One final.
One opportunity to become world champions.
Francesco looked at his teammates.
Kane.
Henderson.
Rooney.
Sterling.
Trippier.
Alli.
Lingard.
Maguire.
Stones.
Walker.
Rose.
Pickford.
Every one of them had given something to reach this moment.
The World Cup had begun with dreams.
Now the dream had become tangible.
The final was waiting.
Francesco looked once more toward the England supporters as they sang his name beneath the lights of Saint Petersburg Stadium.
__________________________________________________
Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 19 (2017)
Birthplace : London, England
Football Club : Arsenal First Team
Championship History : 2014/2015 Premier League, 2014/2015 FA Cup, 2015/2016 Community Shield, 2016/2017 Premier League, 2015/2016 Champions League, Euro 2016, Premier League Champion 2016/2017, FA Cup 2016/2017, 2016/2017 Champions League, 2017/2018 Carabao Cup, Premier League 2017/2018, FA Cup 2017/2018, and Champions League 2017/2018.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 59
Goal: 76
Assist: 6
MOTM: 7
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 10
Goal: 12
Assist: 1
MOTM: 5
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