The King Of Arsenal Chapter 569 569: 537. Aftermath Of The First Match

Novel: The King Of Arsenal Author: Tang12 Updated: Jun 16, 2026

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Now reading: Chapter 569 569: 537. Aftermath Of The First Match from The King Of Arsenal, a Action novel by Tang12.

If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!

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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)

...

A perfect start to the preseason tour, and also show the world that Arsenal are remain a top club.

For a brief mont after the whistle, the pitch of ANZ Stadium seed to exhale.

The match was over.

A strong performance.

A clean sheet.

And the perfect start to the preseason tour.

But instead of imdiately rushing toward the tunnel, the players slowed their steps.

Preseason matches had a slightly different rhythm after the final whistle.

Less tension.

More appreciation.

Francesco stood near the center circle for a mont, hands resting on his hips as he looked around the enormous stadium.

The crowd was still buzzing.

Thousands of Arsenal supporters were clapping, waving flags, and raising their phones to capture the final monts of the match.

Even many Sydney FC fans applauded politely.

They had co to see football.

And they had seen a good match.

Nearby, several Sydney FC players approached the Arsenal squad to exchange handshakes.

One of the first was their captain, Alex Brosque.

He walked toward Francesco with a relaxed smile.

"Good ga," Brosque said, extending his hand.

Francesco shook it firmly.

"You too."

Brosque nodded toward the scoreboard.

"Four goals in preseason… not bad."

Francesco chuckled slightly.

"We're still warming up."

Brosque laughed.

"Well… hopefully you're tired by the ti the real season starts."

They exchanged a brief friendly nod before moving on to greet other players.

Across the pitch, Olivier Giroud was chatting with one of Sydney's defenders, who was still shaking his head slightly after Giroud's powerful header.

"Honestly," the defender said with a grin, "I jumped too."

Giroud laughed.

"Maybe next ti."

Nearby, Santi Cazorla exchanged shirts with a Sydney midfielder who clearly admired the Spanish playmaker's technique.

"You play beautiful football," the Sydney player said sincerely.

Cazorla smiled warmly.

"Thank you."

On the far side of the pitch, Petr Čech shook hands with Sydney's goalkeeper.

Goalkeepers always shared a quiet respect.

Both knew the loneliness of their position.

A few ters away, Theo Walcott and Héctor Bellerín chatted briefly with several younger Sydney FC players who looked genuinely excited just to share the field with Arsenal.

One of them asked Walcott jokingly,

"How fast were you actually running?"

Walcott laughed.

"Not fast enough today."

Gradually the small clusters of players began drifting apart.

Professional respect exchanged.

The match officially complete.

But the evening was not over yet.

From the stands, Arsenal supporters were still singing.

The noise echoed around the vast structure of ANZ Stadium.

"ARSENAL!"

Francesco glanced toward the sideline where several teammates were already beginning to walk toward the stands.

Walker waved him over.

"Captain," said Kyle Walker.

"You coming?"

Francesco looked toward the sections filled with Arsenal fans.

Thousands of them.

So wearing jerseys.

So holding scarves.

Many waving their phones.

Many had probably waited years for this mont.

To see Arsenal live in Australia.

He nodded.

"Of course."

One by one the Arsenal players began walking toward the stands.

Not running.

Not rushing.

Just slowly approaching the supporters who had filled the stadium.

The reaction was imdiate.

Fans surged toward the railings.

Security staff moved carefully into position to maintain space.

But the excitent was impossible to contain.

"FRANCESCO!"

"WALCOTT!"

"SANCHEZ!"

Hands reached forward holding shirts, pens, scarves.

Phones stretched over the barrier hoping for selfies.

Francesco approached the front row and raised a hand.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

The fans responded instantly with cheers.

Several young supporters leaned forward with shirts ready to sign.

One young boy wearing an oversized Arsenal jersey looked almost frozen with excitent.

His father nudged him gently.

"Go on."

Francesco smiled and took the boy's shirt.

"What's your na?"

"Liam," the boy said nervously.

Francesco carefully signed the back of the shirt before handing it back.

"Nice to et you, Liam."

The boy looked like he had just been handed a treasure.

Nearby, Alexis Sánchez was signing autographs for a group of fans waving Chilean flags.

One supporter shouted in Spanish.

"¡Alexis, eres el jor!"

Sánchez laughed and pointed toward the crowd.

"Gracias."

Further down the line, Andrew Robertson posed for several selfies with a group of Australian Arsenal fans who could barely stop smiling.

Robertson glanced toward Walker nearby.

"You'd think we won the Champions League."

Walker shrugged.

"Feels like it to them."

And honestly, he wasn't wrong.

For many fans in Australia, this was their only chance to see Arsenal play live.

Thousands of kiloters away from London.

That made monts like this special.

anwhile, Virgil van Dijk stood patiently signing autographs along another section of the barrier.

A fan wearing a Netherlands national team shirt held out a small flag.

"Virgil, please!"

Van Dijk smiled and signed it carefully.

"Thanks for coming," he said.

A few ters away, Santi Cazorla removed his jersey and handed it to a young fan wearing a red Arsenal scarf.

The boy's jaw dropped.

"Really?"

Cazorla nodded.

"Yes."

The reaction from the surrounding crowd was imdiate.

Cheers.

Applause.

Phones lifted everywhere to capture the mont.

Back near the center section of the stands, Francesco continued greeting supporters.

So handed him programs to sign.

Others asked for photos.

One older supporter held out a vintage Arsenal jersey from years ago.

Francesco looked at it with curiosity.

"That's older than ."

The fan laughed.

"Still works."

Francesco signed the front of it carefully.

"Take care of it."

The man grinned.

"Always."

Nearby, Walcott climbed slightly onto the advertising boards to reach a group of supporters further up the barrier.

"Careful," Robertson called jokingly.

Walcott shrugged.

"They're too far away."

The fans roared with laughter as Walcott signed several more shirts.

Even Petr Čech, normally one of the quieter figures on the pitch, took ti to greet supporters and sign autographs for a group of young goalkeepers wearing gloves and replica helts.

One of them held up a sign reading:

"ČECH IS MY HERO."

Čech gave the boy a thumbs-up before signing his gloves.

Ti passed quickly.

Five minutes.

Ten.

Fifteen.

The stadium slowly began emptying as so supporters headed toward the exits.

But many remained near the pitch just to watch the players interact with fans.

Eventually Wenger stepped onto the pitch from the tunnel entrance and gestured gently toward the squad.

Arsène Wenger rarely interrupted monts like this.

But the team still had a schedule.

Recovery.

dia.

Travel back to the hotel.

Francesco noticed the signal and gave a final wave toward the supporters.

"Thank you," he called out again.

The fans answered with applause.

"THANK YOU!"

"CO BACK SOON!"

One last round of autographs.

One last photo.

Then the Arsenal players slowly began walking back toward the tunnel.

As they stepped away from the stands, the crowd applauded again.

A long, warm applause that echoed around the stadium.

Not just for the 4–0 victory.

But for the connection between club and supporters.

Football had always been about that.

Francesco glanced back once more before entering the tunnel.

Thousands of red shirts scattered through the stadium seats.

Even on the other side of the world, Arsenal's presence felt enormous.

Walker caught up beside him.

"Not bad for preseason."

Francesco smiled slightly.

"No."

For a second neither of them said anything more.

They simply walked side by side toward the tunnel entrance, their boots making soft, hollow echoes against the concrete as they crossed from the bright pitch into the shaded corridor beneath the stands of ANZ Stadium.

Behind them the stadium still humd with life.

Supporters were slowly filtering toward the exits, but the sound of clapping and singing continued to drift through the tunnel like a distant tide.

Walker stretched his arms above his head as he walked.

"Long flight," he muttered. "Different country."

He glanced toward Francesco.

"Still scored though."

Francesco shrugged lightly.

"Striker's job."

Walker laughed.

"That's the captain's answer."

Further ahead of them, several teammates were already disappearing around the corner that led toward the dressing rooms.

Virgil van Dijk walked beside Shkodran Mustafi discussing defensive positioning from the second half.

A few ters behind them, Theo Walcott and Héctor Bellerín were still joking about Giroud's header.

"That cross was perfect," Walcott insisted.

Bellerín smirked.

"Finally one reached him."

Walcott nudged him.

"Oi."

They rounded the final turn in the corridor and arrived outside the dressing room door marked clearly with the crest of Arsenal F.C..

A staff mber pushed the door open.

The familiar scent of linint, fresh towels, and damp grass drifted out into the hallway.

Inside, the room felt warr than before.

Match heat still lingered in the air.

Players entered gradually, dropping onto benches or leaning against lockers as the adrenaline of the match slowly faded.

Boots were the first things to go.

One after another they hit the floor with dull thuds.

Laces loosened.

Shin guards removed.

Sweaty socks peeled off and tossed toward equipnt bins.

"Ahh," sighed Santi Cazorla as he collapsed backward briefly onto the bench.

"That felt good."

Across the room, Olivier Giroud was replaying his header in the air with his hands while speaking to one of the assistant coaches.

"It ca perfectly," he said.

"Right here."

He tapped his forehead.

The coach laughed.

"Yes, we noticed."

Nearby, Petr Čech carefully removed his goalkeeper gloves before setting them neatly into his locker.

He always moved with a quiet routine after matches.

Slow.

Precise.

Calm.

Francesco walked to his own locker and sat down heavily.

The exhaustion wasn't overwhelming, but it was there.

A match always drained sothing from the body.

Even preseason ones.

He bent forward and untied his boots slowly.

Walker dropped onto the bench beside him a mont later.

"Four-nil," Walker said, wiping his face with a towel.

"Not bad."

Francesco nodded.

"Solid."

Across the room, Andrew Robertson was already halfway out of his match shirt.

"Shower first," Robertson said.

"Before Walker stinks up the place."

Walker threw a small towel at him.

"Watch it."

Laughter rippled through the dressing room.

The mood was relaxed.

Satisfied.

Professional teams didn't celebrate preseason wins like trophies, but a good performance still felt good.

After a few minutes, players began heading toward the shower room.

Steam was already drifting faintly from the open doorway.

The sound of running water echoed from inside.

Francesco stood up, grabbed a clean towel from the rack near his locker, and followed the others.

The shower room was large, lined with tiled walls and multiple rows of shower heads.

Hot water poured steadily from above.

So players stepped under imdiately, letting the water wash away the sweat and grass stains from the match.

Others sat briefly on the benches along the wall before joining.

Francesco stepped beneath one of the showers and tilted his head slightly forward as warm water ran over his hair and down his shoulders.

For a mont he simply stood there.

Letting the tension ease out of his muscles.

Nearby, Walker was already talking again.

"You see that fan asking for my boots?"

"Did you give them?" Robertson asked.

Walker shrugged under the spray of water.

"I thought about it."

Giroud chuckled from the next row.

"Next ti score two goals."

Walker pointed toward him.

"Alright, Olivier."

The shower room filled with quiet conversation and occasional laughter as players washed off the match.

Ten minutes later the group gradually returned to the dressing room.

Now wrapped in towels.

Hair still damp.

Staff had already placed clean clothes neatly on each locker bench.

Black and red Arsenal jumpsuits.

Travel gear for the journey back to the hotel.

Francesco dried his hair quickly before pulling on the jumpsuit jacket.

The soft fabric felt comfortable after ninety minutes in match kit.

Around the room, players dressed one by one.

Zippers closed.

Shoes laced.

Phones finally checked after hours away.

Van Dijk glanced at his screen and laughed.

"ssages already."

"What?" Mustafi asked.

"Everyone saying nice ga."

Mustafi nodded.

"Good problem."

A few minutes later the dressing room door opened and Wenger stepped inside.

Arsène Wenger looked around calmly at the players now dressed in their Arsenal travel gear.

"Good performance today," he said simply.

Several players nodded.

He continued.

"Recovery tonight."

"Light training tomorrow."

Then he glanced toward Francesco.

"Captain."

Francesco looked up.

"We have the press conference."

Francesco stood.

"Of course."

The rest of the squad began gathering their bags as the staff signaled that the team bus was ready.

Players filtered out into the corridor again, now relaxed and comfortable in their Arsenal jumpsuits.

Outside the stadium service entrance, the evening sky above Sydney had begun turning shades of orange and purple.

The team bus waited nearby with its engine quietly running.

Security staff guided the players toward it.

One by one they climbed aboard.

Inside, the atmosphere felt completely different from earlier.

Before the match the bus had been quiet.

Focused.

Now the players were relaxed.

So leaned back into their seats.

Others joked across the aisle.

Giroud scrolled through photos from the match on his phone.

Robertson leaned toward Walker.

"Still think your cross was better?"

Walker shook his head.

"No chance."

Inside the stadium anwhile, Francesco followed Wenger down a different corridor toward the dia area.

Bright lights beca visible ahead.

The low hum of journalists talking filled the room.

A staff mber opened the door for them.

Inside, rows of reporters sat behind tables with microphones and recorders ready.

Caras pointed toward the stage at the front of the room.

Wenger walked calmly to the podium.

Francesco took the seat beside him.

Flashes imdiately lit the room.

The press officer leaned toward the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlen," he said.

"Post-match press conference for Arsenal following the match against Sydney FC."

He nodded toward Wenger.

"Questions."

A journalist in the front row raised his hand imdiately.

"Arsène," he began, "your thoughts on the performance tonight?"

Wenger folded his hands calmly.

"I think it was a good first match of the tour."

"We played with good rhythm."

"Good discipline."

"And we scored so very nice goals."

Another journalist spoke up.

"And Francesco's goal?"

Wenger glanced briefly toward his captain beside him.

"Very good movent."

"Exactly what we expect from a striker."

Francesco smiled slightly but said nothing.

Then another reporter raised a hand.

"Francesco," he asked, "how did it feel playing in front of such a large crowd here in Australia?"

Francesco leaned slightly toward the microphone.

"It was special," he said honestly.

"The fans were incredible."

"They supported us from the first minute to the last."

He paused briefly before adding.

"And after the match we wanted to thank them properly."

Several journalists nodded.

Another question followed.

"Does a performance like this send a ssage ahead of the new season?"

Francesco glanced briefly toward Wenger before answering.

"It's preseason," he said calmly.

"But we always want to show our level."

"And today we played well."

The press conference continued for several more minutes as journalists asked about tactics, the preseason tour, and the squad's preparation for the upcoming campaign.

Eventually the press officer stepped forward again.

"Last question."

After one final answer, Wenger nodded politely toward the room and stood.

"Thank you."

Francesco stood beside him.

The two n stepped away from the stage as cara flashes faded.

Outside the dia room, a staff mber was already waiting.

"The bus is ready," he said.

Francesco nodded.

Together they began walking back through the quiet stadium corridors toward the team bus where the rest of the Arsenal squad waited.

The corridor beneath ANZ Stadium felt much quieter now.

Most of the stadium staff had already begun their post-match routines. Equipnt carts rolled slowly along distant hallways, stadium workers folded barriers near the exits, and the last echoes of supporters drifting away through the concourses created a faint, hollow background sound.

Francesco walked beside Arsène Wenger at an easy pace.

The bright dia lights were behind them now.

The adrenaline of the match, the noise of the press room, even the buzz from the crowd outside had started to fade into sothing calr.

Just the quiet rhythm of footsteps on concrete.

Wenger slipped his hands casually into the pockets of his jacket as they walked.

"You handled the questions well," he said.

Francesco shrugged slightly.

"They weren't too difficult."

Wenger smiled faintly.

"That is because you gave them nothing controversial."

Francesco chuckled.

"Experience."

They continued down the hallway until they reached the exit tunnel leading toward the stadium service entrance.

Outside, the evening sky above Sydney had deepened into a cool twilight blue.

The stadium floodlights still shone brightly behind them, casting long shadows across the service area where the team bus waited.

The large black vehicle carried the crest of Arsenal F.C. across its side, illuminated softly by the overhead lights.

Most of the players were already inside.

Through the windows, silhouettes could be seen shifting in seats, talking, laughing, or scrolling through their phones.

A mber of the security staff opened the bus door as Wenger and Francesco approached.

"Good evening," the guard said politely.

Wenger nodded in thanks before stepping aboard.

Francesco followed right behind him.

The interior of the bus felt warm compared to the cool night air outside.

Soft lighting glowed along the ceiling, and the gentle hum of the engine vibrated through the floor.

The atmosphere was relaxed now.

Players sat scattered throughout the rows, so leaning back with headphones in, others chatting across the aisle.

Near the middle, Kyle Walker was in the middle of telling a story.

"…and then the fan asked if he could have my boots," Walker said animatedly.

Across from him, Andrew Robertson laughed.

"So why didn't you give them?"

Walker spread his hands.

"They were brand new!"

Laughter erupted around them.

Further back, Olivier Giroud and Theo Walcott were replaying the fourth goal on Giroud's phone.

The video clip showed Walcott's cross curling into the box before Giroud rose above the defenders to hamr the header into the net.

Giroud nodded proudly.

"Perfect."

Walcott leaned closer to the screen.

"I told you."

A few rows ahead, Virgil van Dijk sat quietly by the window scrolling through ssages on his phone.

Occasionally he smiled as notifications continued arriving.

Across the aisle, Shkodran Mustafi leaned forward from his seat.

"Family?" he asked.

Van Dijk nodded.

"Everyone watched."

Mustafi grinned.

"Sa here."

Near the front of the bus, Petr Čech sat with his long legs stretched slightly into the aisle, reading sothing calmly on a tablet.

Goalkeepers often seed the most relaxed after matches.

Maybe because they spent so much ti focused during gas.

Francesco moved down the aisle and dropped into the empty seat beside Walker.

Walker glanced over.

"Press conference done?"

Francesco nodded.

"Yeah."

"How bad was it?"

"Normal questions."

Walker leaned back.

"Good. ans we played well."

At the front of the bus, Wenger sat in one of the staff seats near the driver.

He spoke briefly with one of the assistants before nodding.

A mont later the bus door closed with a soft hydraulic hiss.

The driver shifted the vehicle into gear.

Slowly, the bus pulled away from the stadium.

Outside the windows, the glowing structure of ANZ Stadium began to drift backward into the night.

Fans still lingered near the outer gates, so waving when they spotted the Arsenal bus departing.

Several players inside waved back casually through the glass.

The road leading away from the stadium wound through the Olympic Park district.

Streetlights reflected off the pavent.

Cars passed slowly on nearby roads.

Inside the bus, the conversation gradually settled into quieter tones.

Travel always had that effect.

After the excitent of a match, the ride back often beca a mont to relax.

So players leaned back and closed their eyes.

Others continued talking quietly.

Francesco rested his head briefly against the seat and looked out the window.

Sydney at night looked different from London.

Wider roads.

Different skyline.

Different lights.

But football had a way of making every city feel familiar.

After about twenty minutes, the bus began entering the central area of the city where the team hotel stood.

Tall buildings rose around them now.

Neon lights reflected across the glass windows of restaurants and shops.

Finally the bus slowed as it approached the entrance of their hotel.

A sleek modern building where the squad had been staying during the preseason tour.

The bus rolled to a smooth stop outside the front entrance.

The door opened.

Warm light from the hotel lobby spilled out toward the street.

Players began standing up and grabbing their bags.

"Food," Robertson said imdiately.

"That's the first thing."

Walker nodded.

"Definitely."

One by one the players stepped off the bus and into the lobby.

Hotel staff greeted them politely.

Several guests glanced up from the reception area with surprised expressions.

It wasn't every night that an entire Premier League squad walked into your hotel.

The Arsenal group moved quickly toward the hotel restaurant, which had already been reserved for the team.

Inside, long tables had been arranged for them.

Plates were already prepared with a variety of post-match als.

Grilled chicken.

Pasta.

Vegetables.

Rice.

Fresh fruit.

Sports nutrition was always carefully managed.

Players filled their plates and sat down together.

The atmosphere remained relaxed.

Giroud sat beside Walcott and continued discussing the header.

"You crossed exactly where I needed it."

Walcott grinned.

"I aim to please."

Across the table, Cazorla laughed softly while listening.

"Next ti score with your foot too."

Giroud raised an eyebrow.

"We will see."

Francesco sat with Van Dijk and Mustafi while eating slowly.

The conversation shifted between the match and the travel schedule.

"How long until the next ga?" Mustafi asked.

"Three days," Van Dijk replied.

Francesco nodded.

"Recovery tomorrow."

als like this always passed quickly.

Players ate efficiently.

Professional athletes rarely lingered long over dinner during preseason.

About forty minutes later, staff mbers began guiding the players toward another room inside the hotel.

The eting room.

Wenger had requested everyone gather there.

Inside, a large screen had already been prepared at the front of the room.

Rows of chairs faced the screen.

Players entered gradually, so still finishing bottles of water or electrolyte drinks.

Francesco sat near the front with several teammates.

At exactly the scheduled ti, Wenger stepped forward.

The room quieted imdiately.

Arsène Wenger stood beside the screen with a remote in his hand.

"Good evening," he said calmly.

"First, congratulations on the result."

Several players nodded.

"But preseason is about improvent."

He clicked the remote.

The screen behind him lit up with video footage from the match against Sydney FC.

The first clip showed Arsenal's opening goal.

Özil threading the pass.

Francesco making the run.

The shot flying into the net.

Wenger paused the video.

"Excellent movent here."

He pointed toward the screen.

"Look at the timing of the run."

Francesco watched quietly.

Then the video continued.

Another clip.

Sydney pressing higher late in the first half.

Wenger paused again.

"This mont," he said.

"Our defensive line must communicate faster."

Van Dijk nodded slightly.

Mustafi leaned forward to study the positioning.

Clip after clip followed.

Good monts.

Areas to improve.

The analysis lasted nearly forty minutes.

Wenger's tone remained calm and precise.

Never dramatic.

Always focused on detail.

Finally he switched off the screen.

"That is enough for tonight."

The players shifted slightly in their seats.

Wenger looked around the room one last ti.

"Recover well."

"Tomorrow we continue."

With that, the eting ended.

Players stood up and stretched as the group slowly filtered out of the eting room and back toward their hotel floors.

The long day was finally coming to an end.

A successful match.

A good performance.

And the preseason tour of Arsenal had begun exactly the way they wanted.

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Na : Francesco Lee

Age : 18 (2016)

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, and 2016/2017 Champions League.

Season 16/17 stats:

Arsenal:

Match: 55

Goal: 87

Assist: 5

MOTM: 14

POTM: 1

England:

Match: 1

Goal: 1

Assist: 0

MOTM: 0