11. Time Skip

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With that thought, he closed his eyes, already eager for the next morning to come so he could start working toward his dreams once again.

Nine years had passed since Francesco's sixth birthday, and his dream of playing for Arsenal had only grown stronger with each passing year. Now fifteen, he had transformed from the enthusiastic young boy who'd first joined the U9s into a focused, driven teenager. Standing at 171 cm, his physique was lean yet muscular, and his handsome face had only intensified the attention he garnered both on and off the field. The media had started to take notice, too; phrases like "the next football superstar" began appearing in articles and sports headlines. But while the hype was flattering, Francesco never let it distract him from his ultimate goal.

Training had become his second home. Every skill he'd dreamed of mastering at six years old was now deeply ingrained in his daily routine. His footwork had improved drastically, each touch on the ball controlled and precise, and his passing was sharp and accurate. Even his signature move, which he had worked on tirelessly, was nearly perfected, earning him the admiration and cheers of both fans and teammates.

This dedication had paid off, earning him a spot on Arsenal's U18 team. His journey through the ranks of Arsenal's Youth Academy—known by fans and players alike as Hale End—had been both challenging and rewarding. Coach Smith, the same coach who had seen Francesco's potential when he was just six, had risen alongside him, advancing through Arsenal's coaching ranks in part due to his role in developing Francesco's talent. Their connection ran deep, a mutual respect grounded in years of hard work and shared dreams.

Today, Hale End was buzzing with activity as players gathered on the training pitch, preparing for their morning drills. Coach Smith, now older but still full of energy and passion, called the team to attention, his whistle echoing across the field. Francesco joined the lineup, greeting his teammates with nods and smiles.

"All right, team," Coach Smith began, his gaze sweeping over the young faces before him. "Today's training is all about the basics. We're going to drill your ball control, passing, and movement. Master these, and you'll have the foundation you need to build your careers."

Francesco nodded, understanding the importance of what Coach Smith was saying. Even after years of training, he still drilled his basic skills daily. He knew that no matter how skilled a player became, it was the fundamentals that made the difference between a good player and a great one.

The first drill focused on ball control. Each player received a ball and was tasked with navigating through a series of cones, keeping the ball as close as possible to their feet. Francesco went first, weaving through the cones with ease, his eyes trained on the ball, his touch light and precise. He could feel the eyes of his teammates on him, but he didn't mind; he thrived under the pressure.

Coach Smith blew his whistle. "Perfect, Francesco! Watch how he moves, everyone. That's what years of practice will get you."

Next came passing drills. The team paired up, and Francesco found himself partnered with Danny, a teammate he'd known since the U9 days. They moved back and forth across the pitch, passing the ball with increasing speed and precision, their feet moving in sync.

"Good work, both of you," Coach Smith called out. "That's the kind of connection we need to see."

As the session continued, Francesco's mind drifted back to the goals he'd written in his notebook years ago. At ten, he'd started working on his free kicks and arc shooting, just as he'd planned. Hours of practice had honed his ability to curl the ball into the top corner from a distance. It was a skill that had set him apart, and Coach Smith often used him as an example during training.

Coach Smith finally gathered the team for a small scrimmage match. Francesco took his position as an attacking midfielder, a role he excelled in due to his vision and ability to control the game's pace. The match began, and Francesco quickly found himself in possession of the ball. He scanned the field, looking for an opening. His feet danced over the ball, performing the signature move he had crafted over the years. A quick feint followed by a swift step-over, leaving the defender off-balance. With one last touch, he darted past, drawing cheers from his teammates on the sidelines.

"Nice one, Francesco!" Danny called, giving him a thumbs-up.

Francesco pushed forward, spotting Will on the wing. With a well-timed pass, he sent the ball toward his teammate, who crossed it back into the box. Francesco timed his run perfectly, meeting the ball with a clean strike that sailed into the net. The scrimmage continued, with Francesco creating chances, dictating play, and even scoring a few more goals.

After the match, Coach Smith gathered the team around. "This is the kind of teamwork and individual brilliance we want to see. Francesco, that was outstanding play. But remember, it's not just about scoring goals; it's about lifting the whole team."

Francesco nodded, feeling both pride and humility. Coach Smith's words were a reminder that, despite his individual talents, football was ultimately a team sport. His success meant nothing if he couldn't lift those around him.

As training wrapped up, Francesco stayed back on the pitch. The rest of the team trickled off to the locker rooms, but he picked up a ball and walked over to the edge of the penalty box. This was his time to practice free kicks, just as he had done countless times before. Setting the ball down, he visualized the shot, focusing on the angle and arc he wanted. With a smooth, practiced motion, he struck the ball, watching as it curled into the top corner.

One after another, he practiced his shots, each one improving slightly from the last. The rhythm of his foot against the ball, the feel of the strike, and the sight of the ball hitting the net—these moments were what he lived for. By the time he was done, the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the empty field.

As he gathered his things, Coach Smith approached him. "Still here, Francesco?"

Francesco smiled, slightly embarrassed. "Just working on my free kicks, Coach."

Coach Smith chuckled. "I can see that. But remember to take care of yourself. You've got a bright future, Francesco, and we want you to be at your best when the time comes."

Francesco nodded, knowing Coach Smith was right. "Thanks, Coach. I just want to be ready, you know?"

"You will be," Coach Smith said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Keep working hard, but don't lose sight of why you're here. You're doing this because you love the game, and that love is what will carry you through even the toughest times."

Francesco looked out over the field, taking in the familiar sights and sounds of Hale End. This place had become more than just a training ground for him—it was where he'd learned, grown, and chased his dreams. As he left the pitch that evening, his mind was already on the future.

Francesco hopped onto his bicycle, the one his parents had gifted him for his thirteenth birthday. The sleek, lightweight frame glinted under the evening light, and he appreciated its sturdy build and smooth gears—perfect for both the daily commute and an additional workout to complement his training. He pedaled steadily, savoring the cool breeze as it whipped past him, clearing his mind of the intense training he'd just finished. The ride home was short but enough to loosen his muscles and provide a welcome transition from the field back to home life.

As he turned onto his street, Francesco spotted the familiar white siding of his family's house and a smile crept across his face. Home was his haven, a place where he could relax and recharge after a long day. He leaned his bike against the porch railing, wiped his shoes on the mat, and stepped inside.

"Hi, Mom!" he called as he walked in, the familiar aroma of baking filling the air.

"Hey, sweetie," his mom, Sarah, answered from the kitchen. She was busy preparing a tray of snacks, her hands moving with practiced ease as she arranged slices of bread with an assortment of cheeses and fruits. She glanced over with a smile. "How was training?"

"Good," Francesco replied, hanging his jacket by the door before stepping into the kitchen. "Coach says I'm getting better, but he also reminded me to keep working on the basics."

Sarah nodded approvingly. "Sounds like Coach Smith knows what he's doing. And I'm glad to hear you're taking his advice seriously." She handed him a plate with some of the snacks she'd been preparing. "Here, have a snack before dinner."

"Thanks, Mom," he said, accepting the plate. He took a seat at the counter and watched her as she began prepping vegetables, likely for dinner.

"How was your day?" Francesco asked between bites.

"Oh, the usual," Sarah said, dicing onions with quick, efficient strokes. "But I ran into Mrs. Doyle from across the street, and she mentioned that her son has been following your games. He's apparently quite the fan."

Francesco blushed a little, feeling a mix of pride and embarrassment. "That's really nice to hear," he said, smiling. Even though he was used to hearing positive feedback, it still felt a bit surreal to know he had fans—even local kids.

After finishing his snack, he excused himself to shower. The hot water was refreshing, washing away the dirt and sweat from training. He allowed himself a few moments to unwind, the water soothing his tired muscles. As he stepped out, he felt recharged, as if he could take on anything. He dressed in a comfortable hoodie and jeans and made his way to the dining room, where the scent of garlic and herbs had begun to fill the air.

When he entered, he found a plate of freshly baked bread and a bowl of steaming soup waiting for him. He took a seat and began munching on the bread, savoring its warmth and the hint of butter melting into it.

As he waited for the main course, the front door opened, and his father, Mike, stepped in, setting down his briefcase with a sigh. "Hey, family!" he greeted them, making his way to the dining room.

"Hi, Dad!" Francesco said, giving him a wave. Sarah gave Mike a quick peck on the cheek before he took a seat beside Francesco.

"So, what's on the menu tonight?" Mike asked, eyeing the soup with interest.

Sarah smiled as she ladled bowls for everyone. "Just some homemade vegetable soup and pasta with pesto—Francesco's favorite after a long day."

"Ah, perfect!" Mike said, digging in with enthusiasm. After a few bites, he turned to Francesco. "So, tell me about training today. I know football's your main focus, but I hope you're keeping up with your studies too?"

Francesco took a deep breath, feeling a bit guilty. Football was undeniably his priority, and balancing it with school had become increasingly challenging. But he knew his dad was just looking out for him, making sure he didn't lose sight of the importance of academics.

"Training was great," Francesco began, glancing at his father. "Coach says I'm improving a lot, especially with my passing and positioning. But don't worry, Dad. I'm managing to keep up with my schoolwork too." He paused, then added, "I know it's important, especially if things don't go exactly as planned with football."

Mike nodded approvingly. "That's the right mindset, son. Football is an incredible path, and I'm so proud of how far you've come, but it's smart to have other options too."

Francesco gave a small nod, appreciating his dad's support. Despite the clear priority he'd given to football, Francesco had taken extra effort to stay on top of his studies, knowing it was his parents' wish for him to have a strong foundation beyond sports.

As dinner continued, Francesco and his parents chatted about everything from his upcoming games to his dad's recent work project. Francesco listened as Mike described his day, and he couldn't help but feel grateful for the unwavering support both his parents provided. They were the ones who had taken him to his first practices, who had sat through every game, cheering him on from the sidelines.

After dinner, Francesco helped his mom clear the table and rinsed a few dishes before excusing himself. "Thanks for dinner, Mom. It was great as always," he said, giving her a quick hug.

"You're welcome, sweetie," Sarah replied, smiling. "Make sure you get some rest tonight, too."

"I will," he promised, but his mind was already on the homework he needed to finish before bed. Football might be his passion, but he knew that he couldn't neglect his studies. His parents had always emphasized the importance of balance, and Francesco took that to heart.

As he walked up the stairs, he could feel the slight soreness in his legs from training, but it was a satisfying kind of tiredness—a reminder of the effort he'd put in that day. He entered his room, flicked on his desk lamp, and sat down at his neatly organized desk, pulling out his textbooks and notebooks.

Tonight's homework was a mix of math problems and an English assignment, both of which required his focus. He started with the math, methodically working through each problem and double-checking his calculations. Numbers came naturally to him; his logical mind found comfort in the structure and clarity they provided.

After finishing his math problems, Francesco turned to his English homework. They had been assigned a short essay about a person who inspired them. Without hesitation, Francesco began writing about his dad. He thought back to the countless times Mike had encouraged him, reminding him to stay grounded and driven, even as he climbed the ranks in football. Writing came easily as he described how his dad's work ethic and unwavering support had shaped him.

Once he completed the essay, Francesco checked the time. It was getting late, and he knew he needed a good night's sleep to recover from the day's training. He closed his notebooks, stashed his homework in his backpack, and began his bedtime routine, brushing his teeth and washing his face.

Finally, he climbed into bed, pulling the covers up as he glanced out his window at the quiet, darkened street below. As he lay there, his thoughts wandered to the pitch, to the roar of the crowd, and to the dream that drove him every day.

With a quiet determination, he closed his eyes, knowing that tomorrow was another day to work toward that dream.

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Name : Francesco Lee

Age : 15 (2014)

Birthplace : London, England

Football Club : Arsenal U18 Team

Championship History : None