The King Of Arsenal Chapter 163 163: 153. The First Leg of the Champions League

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Francesco took a deep breath, exhaled sharply, and jogged toward the center circle. The ga wasn't over, not by a long shot.

The ga resud with a furious intensity, both sides refusing to give an inch. The equalizer had ignited Juventus, their players surging forward with even more aggression, feeding off the deafening support of their ho crowd. Arsenal, though rattled, refused to fold. They had worked too hard to let the ga slip away now.

For the next fifteen minutes, it was a battle of willpower, of resilience, of who would blink first.

Juventus pressed high, forcing Arsenal deep into their own half, but the Gunners weren't just defending—they were absorbing the pressure, looking for their mont to strike back. Francesco could feel the tension crackling through the air, every touch of the ball crucial, every pass carrying weight.

In the 60th minute, Juventus nearly took the lead. Vidal, relentless as ever, won the ball off Coquelin in midfield and quickly found Tevez at the edge of the box. The Argentine shifted the ball onto his right foot and unleashed a venomous shot toward the top corner.

Francesco held his breath.

Ospina, the hero of the night so far, reacted instantly. He leapt to his left, stretching every inch of his body, and with the fingertips of his gloves, he managed to push the ball onto the crossbar. It ricocheted down onto the goal line, but before Morata could pounce, Koscielny lunged in, hooking the ball away.

Gasps echoed around the stadium. Juventus fans clutched their heads in disbelief. It had been inches away from disaster for Arsenal.

But the ga didn't stop to let them breathe.

Seconds later, Arsenal launched a counterattack. Özil, quick as ever, received the ball from Coquelin and turned sharply, shaking off Marchisio. With one fluid motion, he spotted Alexis making a run down the left flank. The pass was perfect, weighted just right, and Alexis took off.

Francesco sprinted alongside him, watching as Alexis cut inside, dragging Bonucci out of position. Francesco knew what was coming. Alexis feigned a shot, then slipped a reverse pass into the space Bonucci had vacated.

Francesco didn't hesitate.

He took a touch, steadying himself, then rifled a shot toward the far post.

Buffon, the legendary keeper, showed exactly why he was one of the greatest of all ti. Despite his age, his reflexes were still razor-sharp. He sprang to his right, his fingertips grazing the ball just enough to send it skimming past the post.

Francesco let out a frustrated sigh, hands on his hips.

So close.

Wenger clapped his hands on the sideline, encouraging his players. "Good! Keep going!"

The ga was on a knife's edge.

Juventus ca again. Lichtsteiner bombed down the right flank, whipping in a dangerous cross. Morata t it with a powerful header, but Ospina was there again, palming it over the bar.

Arsenal responded. Bellerín surged forward on the counter, linking up with Özil. The German magician danced through Juventus' midfield before sliding the ball to Ramsey, who took a crack from distance—only for Bonucci to throw his body in the way.

Neither side was willing to relent. Every tackle was fierce, every pass had purpose, every save felt monuntal.

Then, in the 72nd minute, the ga took another turn.

Arsenal won a free kick just outside the box after Alexis was brought down by Vidal. It was pri Özil territory. The stadium held its breath as he stepped up, eyes locked on goal. He took his usual short, smooth run-up and curled the ball over the wall.

Buffon was beaten.

The ball was dipping, heading straight for the bottom corner.

And then—clang.

The post.

Francesco reacted first, lunging for the rebound, but Chiellini got there an instant sooner, hamring the ball away.

Francesco cursed under his breath.

It was chaos. Beautiful, relentless chaos.

Juventus ca again, throwing numbers forward. Arsenal countered with lightning speed. The crowd was electric, feeding off the sheer intensity of the battle unfolding before them.

As the ga raged on, Arsène Wenger knew sothing had to change. Arsenal had been holding their ground, but Juventus was growing stronger, feeding off the energy of their ho crowd. If the Gunners didn't take the initiative soon, they could get overwheld.

Then, in the 74th minute, Wenger made his move.

A triple substitution.

Olivier Giroud, Santi Cazorla, and Francis Coquelin were called off. In their place ca Theo Walcott, Aaron Ramsey, and Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain. The change was imdiate, not just in personnel but in structure. Walcott took his place on the right wing, his blistering pace adding a new dinsion to Arsenal's attack. Francesco, anwhile, was pushed up to play as the lone striker.

Francesco rolled his shoulders, adjusting ntally to his new role. He had played up top before, but this was different. This was the Champions League, against Juventus, in their fortress. He needed to deliver.

The fresh legs injected energy into Arsenal's play. Ramsey slotted into midfield, imdiately helping Özil dictate the tempo. Oxlade-Chamberlain's directness and power gave Arsenal an extra drive in attack. Walcott, always a threat with his speed, positioned himself high and wide, ready to exploit Juventus' defensive line.

But Juventus wasn't sitting still.

Just two minutes later, in the 76th minute, Massimiliano Allegri responded with his own triple substitution.

Out ca Andrea Pirlo, Roberto Pereyra, and Alvaro Morata—three key figures in Juventus' attacking play. In their place entered Andrea Barzagli, Stefano Sturaro, and Alessandro Matri.

A tactical shift.

Barzagli's inclusion signaled a move to a more defensively solid back three, likely aid at neutralizing Arsenal's newfound speed. Sturaro brought fresh energy to the midfield, while Matri's presence up front ant Juventus was still looking for a killer blow.

The ga had changed.

The next few minutes were chaotic, both teams adjusting to their new setups. Arsenal, now more direct, used their pace to stretch Juventus. Walcott's first real involvent ca in the 78th minute when he burst past Evra on the right and whipped in a dangerous cross. Francesco sprinted to et it, but Bonucci just barely got a foot in to clear.

Juventus, on the other hand, tightened up their shape, looking to frustrate Arsenal while still posing a threat on the counter. Matri, fresh and eager, tested Koscielny with his movent, forcing Arsenal's backline to stay alert.

Then, in the 81st minute, a golden chance fell to Francesco.

Özil, as if he had eyes in the back of his head, slipped a perfect ball behind the defense. Francesco tid his run to perfection, darting between Chiellini and Bonucci. He took a touch to steady himself, and suddenly, he was one-on-one with Buffon.

Ti slowed.

Francesco struck the ball cleanly, aiming low toward the bottom corner. The ball flew off his boot—only for Buffon, with the reflexes of a legend, to stick out a strong hand and parry it wide.

Francesco clutched his head in frustration.

So close.

The Allianz Stadium roared in approval of their captain, Buffon, whose save had kept Juventus alive.

As the minutes ticked away, the intensity never dropped. Both teams threw everything forward, desperate to land the decisive blow. Arsenal looked sharper in attack, the presence of Walcott and Oxlade-Chamberlain creating problems for Juventus' backline.

In the 85th minute, Oxlade-Chamberlain nearly turned provider. He cut inside from the left and fired a low ball into the box. Francesco lunged forward, stretching to make contact, but Barzagli got just enough of a deflection to send it wide for a corner.

Arsenal was pushing.

Juventus, though, remained dangerous. In the 88th minute, Tevez picked up the ball just outside the box and tried to curl one into the far corner. Ospina, once again, was equal to it, diving full stretch to keep it out.

Every player on the pitch was running on fus, but nobody dared slow down.

Then, as the ga edged into stoppage ti, the defining mont arrived.

The tension inside the Allianz Stadium was suffocating. Both teams had given everything, but the deadlock remained. Every pass, every touch, every decision felt monuntal as the ga crept toward its climax.

Then, as the clock hit the 90th minute, the fourth official raised his signboard.

Four minutes of added ti.

A collective roar erupted from the Juventus faithful. Four minutes to find a winner. Four minutes for Arsenal to hold on—or snatch victory themselves.

Wenger shouted instructions from the touchline, urging his team to stay sharp. "Concentrate! Keep your heads!" he bellowed, his voice barely audible over the deafening atmosphere.

Francesco, standing near the halfway line, wiped the sweat off his forehead. His legs burned from the relentless running, but he knew there was still ti to make an impact. Arsenal had been pushing, looking the more dangerous side in the closing stages. They had to stay focused.

But then, disaster struck.

Juventus launched a final desperate attack. Bonucci, stepping into midfield, sent a lofted ball towards Tevez, who was lurking dangerously at the edge of the box. Koscielny tracked him, but the Argentine controlled it beautifully, spinning away from the Arsenal defender with a brilliant first touch.

Francesco could only watch in horror.

Tevez surged into the penalty area, his eyes locked on goal. Koscielny, realizing he was half a step behind, lunged in with a desperate sliding tackle, hoping to poke the ball away at the last second.

But he mistid it.

His outstretched leg caught Tevez's trailing foot, sending the Juventus striker sprawling onto the turf.

The whistle shrieked.

The referee didn't hesitate.

Penalty.

Gasps filled the stadium. Juventus players sward the referee in appeal, while Arsenal's players raised their hands in frustration. Koscielny sat on the ground, shaking his head. He knew. It was a mistake born out of desperation.

As expected, the yellow card followed.

Francesco ran over, pleading with the referee. "It was soft!" he argued, but deep down, he knew it was pointless. The decision was made.

Juventus had a golden chance to win it at the death.

Arturo Vidal stepped up to take the penalty.

The Chilean midfielder, known for his composure, placed the ball on the spot. Ospina stood on the line, bouncing on his toes, trying to make himself look big.

The stadium fell into a tense silence.

Vidal took a deep breath. Then, with his usual confidence, he ran up and struck the ball with venom, aiming low and to the right.

Ospina guessed correctly.

He dived at full stretch, his fingertips grazing the ball—but it wasn't enough.

The net rippled.

GOAL.

Juventus 2-1 Arsenal.

The Allianz Stadium erupted in pure euphoria. Fans jumped, scread, and waved their scarves in the air. The Juventus bench exploded with celebration, while Arsenal players stood frozen in disbelief.

Francesco felt his stomach sink.

Vidal sprinted toward the corner flag, pounding his chest, roaring at the crowd. His teammates sward him, celebrating wildly.

anwhile, Arsenal's players looked shell-shocked.

Ramsey had his hands on his head. Walcott angrily kicked the turf. Koscielny looked devastated, knowing his mistake had likely cost them the match.

Wenger wasted no ti. He shouted for his players to push forward. "Go! All forward! There's still ti!"

Juventus, now leading, retreated into a defensive shell. Allegri signaled his team to sit deep, closing off any space for Arsenal to exploit.

Francesco clenched his fists. This wasn't over yet.

Arsenal restarted quickly. Bellerín bombed forward down the right, skipping past Evra and swinging in a cross. It was desperate now—hopeful, even. Francesco jumped, battling with Barzagli in the air, but the defender won the header, clearing it away.

Oxlade-Chamberlain retrieved the loose ball and drove forward. He managed to squeeze a pass to Özil, who flicked it toward Ramsey on the edge of the box.

Ramsey took a touch, then shot.

It was on target.

But Buffon, the legend, got down quickly, smothering the ball with ease.

The groans from the Arsenal fans in the away section said it all.

Juventus wasted no ti in slowing things down. Buffon took his ti getting up. When he finally launched the ball forward, the referee checked his watch.

Seconds later, the whistle blew.

It was over.

Juventus 2-1 Arsenal.

The stadium erupted again. Juventus players celebrated, hugging one another, knowing they had snatched victory at the last possible mont.

Francesco stood still, staring at the ground. He felt numb.

They had fought so hard. Had chances. Almost took the lead. But in the cruelest of ways, they had lost. A single mistake had undone all their effort.

Walcott walked over and patted him on the back. "We did everything we could, mate."

Francesco nodded, but it didn't make him feel any better.

On the other side, Juventus players took a lap around the pitch, soaking in the adulation of their fans. Vidal, the match-winner, looked especially animated, kissing the club badge on his shirt.

Arsenal's players trudged toward their away fans, who, despite the disappointnt, clapped them off in appreciation.

As they walked down the tunnel, Wenger put an arm around Francesco. "You played well," he said. "This is football. It happens. We move forward."

Francesco exhaled sharply, He hated losing. But he knew Wenger was right. This wasn't the end, there were still more battles to fight.

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Na : Francesco Lee

Age : 16 (2014)

Birthplace : London, England

Football Club : Arsenal First Team

Championship History : None

Match Played: 26

Goal: 31

Assist: 12

MOTM: 8