The King Of Arsenal Chapter 613 613: 577. Back To Winning Way

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

_____________________________

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

...

Because sowhere underneath the disappointnt, beneath the frustration and analysis and endless replayed mistakes, Arsenal still understood sothing important as one defeat ended a run, but it did not define the team.

The days after Watford passed with a different kind of intensity around Arsenal.

Not panic.

Wenger would never allow panic.

But there was sharpness now.

An edge.

The kind that only appeared after defeat reminded elite teams how fragile montum could actually be.

Training at London Colney beca quieter in so ways.

More focused.

Less joking between drills.

More conversations about positioning, control, emotional managent.

The Watford match replayed constantly inside eting rooms.

Not to punish.

To learn.

That was Wenger's way.

Mistakes weren't buried.

They were studied.

The biggest point repeated again and again wasn't tactical first.

It was emotional.

"We stopped thinking clearly," Wenger said during one video session while clips rolled across the analysis screen. "Football punishes emotional instability imdiately."

Players watched silently.

Francesco sat near the front beside Koscielny, arms folded while the footage replayed the chaotic final twenty minutes at Vicarage Road.

Even now it was uncomfortable to watch.

The rushed pressing.

The stretched midfield shape.

The desperation creeping into possession.

They could all see it now with clearer eyes.

At one point Wenger paused the screen completely.

Arsenal frozen out of structure after Watford's equalizer.

"This," he said calmly, "cannot happen again."

No anger.

Which sohow made it land harder.

Francesco glanced around the room briefly.

Nobody looked defensive.

Nobody looked disconnected.

If anything, the defeat had tightened focus again exactly the way Ian Wright predicted on television.

The unbeaten run was gone now.

So was the strange pressure that ca with protecting it.

Now they simply needed to play football again.

The next challenge arrived quickly.

Everton F.C. away at Goodison Park.

And away matches in Liverpool always carried a certain atmosphere.

History.

Aggression.

Noise.

Especially after a defeat.

The journey north happened beneath another heavy English sky.

Grey clouds hanging low above the motorway while the Arsenal squad traveled together through the damp afternoon toward Liverpool.

Inside the team bus, the mood felt calr than it had after Watford.

Not cheerful.

Focused.

Francesco sat near the window again in Arsenal travel gear, headphones resting loosely around his neck while he watched rain blur against the glass.

Beside him, Gnabry bounced lightly with nervous energy.

"You think they'll co at us early?" the winger asked.

"Yes."

"Very confidently answered."

"They always do here."

Goodison Park was one of those stadiums.

The crowd lived close to the pitch.

Pressure ca fast.

Mistakes felt louder there.

Across the aisle, Alexis sat reviewing clips on his tablet again while Özil leaned back quietly beside him, conserving energy the way he always did before matches.

Walker eventually looked up from his phone.

"I had a dream last night."

Ramsey imdiately sighed.

"That already sounds dangerous."

"We won."

"That part sounds good."

"But Francesco scored a bicycle kick from midfield."

Everyone ignored him.

Even Walker accepted that was fair.

By the ti the bus entered Liverpool properly, evening had begun settling across the city.

Streetlights flickered against wet roads.

Brick buildings glowed faintly beneath the rain.

And eventually Goodison Park appeared ahead through the windows.

Old.

Compact.

Intimidating in its own stubborn way.

The atmosphere outside already felt alive.

Everton supporters crowded near the barriers, scarves raised against the cold while chants echoed through the streets surrounding the stadium.

The Arsenal bus slowed.

Noise imdiately grew louder.

Francesco adjusted the sleeves of his black club jacket slightly as he stood with the rest of the squad preparing to step off.

Different challenge now.

Different pressure.

Sa response needed.

The mont the bus doors opened, the sound crashed toward them imdiately.

Not elegant noise.

Raw football noise.

Goodison Park always felt close enough to touch.

Supporters shouted from only a few feet away while stewards guided Arsenal quickly toward the stadium entrance.

Francesco walked beside Koscielny through the tunnel corridor, eyes forward while caras flashed around them.

"You can feel the atmosphere already," Laurent muttered quietly.

"Good."

Koscielny glanced sideways.

"You enjoy this too much."

"Probably."

Inside the dressing room, Arsenal's lineup waited neatly above each locker.

The familiar 4-3-3.

Petr Čech in goal.

Back four of Andrew Robertson, Virgil van Dijk, Laurent Koscielny, and Kyle Walker.

N'Golo Kanté anchoring midfield.

sut Özil and Granit Xhaka ahead of him.

Alexis Sánchez on the left.

Serge Gnabry on the right.

And Francesco leading the line as captain again.

Wenger stood near the tactical board while players prepared quietly.

"You know what this match will beco if we allow emotion to control it," he said calmly.

Nobody needed clarification.

Watford still lingered in everyone's mind.

"We stay calm if difficult monts arrive," Wenger continued. "Especially then."

Francesco listened carefully while wrapping tape around his wrist.

That was the real test tonight.

Not tactics first.

ntality.

Warm-ups out on the pitch confird everything imdiately.

The rain had eased, but the air remained cold and heavy while Everton supporters roared constantly from every stand.

Boos followed nearly every Arsenal touch during drills.

Goodison felt hostile in the proper old-fashioned way.

Tight space.

Loud crowd.

No comfort.

Francesco jogged through passing exercises beside Özil while the German midfielder glanced around the stadium.

"Feels angry already."

"It usually is."

"I like it."

"That's because you don't have to defend corners."

Özil smirked faintly.

Fair point.

When the teams finally erged from the tunnel for kickoff, the noise hit properly.

Everton scarves waving everywhere.

Floodlights reflecting against damp grass.

The anthem of Premier League football replaced by pure crowd noise and tension.

Francesco adjusted the captain's armband once while shaking hands with Everton players at midfield.

Then the whistle blew.

And imdiately Arsenal played carefully.

Not fearful exactly.

Cautious.

The Watford defeat still sat sowhere in the back of everyone's mind, whether they admitted it or not.

Possession circulated steadily early without unnecessary risks.

Kanté sat deep protecting transitions.

Özil and Xhaka controlled tempo instead of forcing forward passes imdiately.

Everton pressed aggressively from the beginning though.

Especially feeding off the crowd.

Every tackle celebrated loudly.

Every interception greeted like a goal.

Wayne Rooney especially looked energized.

Talking constantly.

Demanding the ball.

Driving Everton forward emotionally.

The opening ten minutes passed fiercely.

Not chaotic.

Competitive.

Alexis nearly created the first dangerous mont after skipping past one defender down the left, but the cross was cleared before Francesco could attack it.

Monts later Walker burst forward overlapping Gnabry before Everton recovered again.

The match felt balanced.

Until the thirteenth minute.

Then everything changed instantly.

Rooney received possession deep.

Far too deep to feel dangerous initially.

Francesco saw him glance up once near midfield.

One second later the strike ca.

Violent.

Clean.

The ball flew through the cold Liverpool air with terrifying speed.

For a split second it looked too ambitious.

Then it kept rising.

Kept traveling.

Cech launched himself full stretch.

Too late.

The shot crashed into the top corner.

Goal.

Goodison Park exploded.

Not gradual noise.

Detonation.

Rooney sprinted toward the stands roaring while Everton players chased after him wildly.

Francesco stood frozen for half a second staring toward the goal.

The strike was ridiculous.

Absolutely ridiculous.

Even Cech remained on one knee briefly afterward, looking almost annoyed by how perfect it was.

But underneath Arsenal's imdiate shock sat sothing more dangerous.

Fear.

Tiny.

Quiet.

But there.

The sa thing happen again.

You could almost feel the thought moving silently through the team.

Another away match.

Another early setback.

Another emotional stadium turning hostile.

For a mont, Arsenal's passing beca hesitant imdiately after restart.

One rushed touch from Xhaka.

A misplaced pass from Robertson.

Everton sensed it instantly and pushed harder.

The crowd grew even louder.

Francesco saw it happening.

Saw the uncertainty trying to creep in again the sa way it had at Watford after the equalizer.

Not this ti.

He clapped his hands sharply once near midfield.

"Relax!" he shouted imdiately.

"Play!"

Kanté echoed it too.

"Calm!"

Important voices.

Important timing.

Francesco dropped deeper repeatedly after that, demanding possession constantly.

One touch.

Two touches.

Simple passes.

Steadying rhythm again.

Because panic spread quickly in football if nobody interrupted it.

The equalizer eventually began with patience.

Twenty-third minute.

Arsenal circulated possession slowly near midfield while Everton's press lost shape for the first ti.

Kanté recovered a loose ball again, which of course he did before feeding Xhaka centrally.

Xhaka turned and found Özil between the lines.

Everything changed imdiately whenever sut received facing forward.

Francesco drifted slightly left first, dragging a defender with him.

Alexis tucked inward.

Gnabry stayed wide.

Movent everywhere.

Özil waited one extra second.

Perfectly.

Then slipped the pass through.

Sharp.

Precise.

Francesco burst onto it instantly behind the defense.

The angle tightened quickly as the goalkeeper rushed forward, but this ti there was no hesitation.

One touch.

Low finish across goal.

Net.

1–1.

The away end erupted behind the goal.

Francesco turned sharply toward them, fists clenched hard while adrenaline crashed through his chest.

Not relief exactly.

Defiance.

Teammates flooded toward him imdiately.

Alexis grabbed the back of his head.

"There we go!"

Özil arrived smiling faintly.

"Better."

Much better.

Most importantly though, Arsenal looked ntally stable again.

That mattered more than the score itself.

As play restarted, Francesco pointed sharply toward the midfield.

"Sa focus!" he shouted.

"No rush!"

Koscielny nodded from deep.

Walker slapped Gnabry lightly on the shoulder.

The panic was gone now.

Replaced again by football.

The match beca fierce afterward.

Proper Premier League intensity.

Everton refused to retreat.

Arsenal refused to lose control again.

Every midfield battle carried force behind it.

Kanté covered impossible ground.

Rooney continued trying ambitious passes and shots every chance he found space.

Van Dijk dominated several dangerous aerial duels that drew loud appreciation even from frustrated Everton supporters.

At one point Alexis got clipped hard near the touchline and imdiately bounced back up furious.

"Again!" he barked toward the referee.

Typical Alexis.

The ga flowed wildly now.

End to end without fully losing structure.

Gnabry nearly scored after dancing inside from the right before his shot flashed narrowly wide.

Monts later Everton forced Cech into another strong save at the near post.

Goodison Park remained deafening throughout all of it.

Then Arsenal struck again.

Thirty-seventh minute.

This ti the move felt cleaner.

More controlled.

More Arsenal.

It began deep with Van Dijk stepping confidently through Everton's first pressing line before feeding Xhaka.

Xhaka imdiately switched play wide toward Robertson overlapping on the left.

Quick movent followed.

Robertson into Alexis.

Alexis inside to Özil.

And suddenly the entire Everton midfield opened.

sut drifted forward gracefully, head up, barely looking hurried despite bodies collapsing around him.

Francesco made a hard central run that dragged both center-backs deeper instinctively.

Exactly enough space.

Özil threaded the pass perfectly into Alexis' path.

One touch.

Then another.

Alexis smashed the finish low past the goalkeeper before anyone could close him down.

Goal.

2–1 Arsenal.

This celebration felt different from the equalizer.

Less emotional release.

More aggression.

Alexis scread toward the away supporters while pounding his chest once before teammates surrounded him.

Francesco grabbed him around the shoulders first.

"There he is."

Alexis grinned fiercely.

"We keep going."

Always.

The final minutes of the half stayed intense.

Everton pushed hard again before halfti trying to regain montum.

Crosses flew into the box repeatedly.

Walker blocked one dangerous cutback.

Koscielny made an enormous interception near the six-yard area.

Cech punched away a corner through traffic under heavy pressure.

But Arsenal handled the pressure better now.

Calr.

Stronger emotionally.

Most importantly, they didn't lose themselves after difficult monts.

When the halfti whistle finally ca, the away section roared approval while Arsenal players walked toward the tunnel breathing heavily.

Not comfortable yet.

Not safe.

But ahead.

Francesco walked beside Özil toward the dressing room entrance while the crowd noise still crashed behind them.

"Much better response," sut said quietly.

Francesco nodded.

"We stayed calm."

"That was the important part."

Inside the dressing room, the atmosphere imdiately felt different from Watford.

Still intense.

Still focused.

But steadier.

Players dropped into seats exhausted from the pace of the half while staff handed out water and recovery drinks quickly.

Walker ripped tape from his wrist with a wince.

"This place is ridiculous."

"That's Goodison," Robertson replied calmly.

Kanté sat forward catching his breath while Xhaka replayed positioning movents aloud quietly beside him.

Alexis still looked wired with adrenaline despite the halfti whistle finally arriving.

Francesco lowered himself onto the bench at his locker, sweat cooling quickly against tired muscles now that movent had stopped.

One half gone.

One half still waiting.

Wenger entered monts later.

The room settled imdiately.

He looked around carefully first before speaking.

"Better reaction."

Simple.

True.

"You conceded a fantastic goal," he continued calmly. "But the response afterward was important."

Several players nodded quietly.

Because they knew exactly what he ant.

Not just tactically.

ntally.

Wenger moved toward the tactical board.

"But this match is not under control yet."

His finger pointed toward Everton's wide areas.

"They will push harder in the second half. Especially early."

Francesco leaned forward listening carefully.

"We must stay intelligent with possession," Wenger continued. "No emotional football."

Again that phrase.

No emotional football.

The lesson from Watford still shaping everything.

Wenger looked toward the midfield.

"sut. Granit. Slow the ga when necessary."

Then toward the defense.

"Do not get dragged into chaos near our box."

Van Dijk nodded imdiately.

Koscielny wiped sweat from his forehead while listening closely.

Finally Wenger's eyes settled briefly on Francesco.

"Keep leading the rhythm."

Not just scoring.

Rhythm.

Calmness.

Control.

Francesco understood exactly what he ant.

The second half began with a different feeling around Arsenal entirely.

Not comfort.

Goodison Park never allowed comfort.

But belief had returned.

Real belief.

The kind built not from speeches or headlines, but from surviving difficult monts without losing yourselves.

As the players walked back out beneath the floodlights, the cold Liverpool air hit them imdiately again. Everton supporters remained loud despite the scoreline, scarves raised high while noise rolled down from every stand.

Francesco adjusted the captain's armband once while jogging toward his position near the center circle.

One good half ant nothing if the second collapsed.

That lesson still sat fresh in everyone's mind.

Across the pitch, Rooney barked instructions toward his midfield while Koeman stood near the touchline speaking intensely with his assistants. Everton still believed they could turn the match again.

Arsenal knew it too.

The whistle blew.

And imdiately the difference in Arsenal's ntality beca visible.

They followed Wenger's instructions almost perfectly.

No emotional football.

No unnecessary chaos.

Possession moved with patience now.

Kanté remained disciplined in front of the defense, constantly closing dangerous spaces before Everton could properly attack them. Özil slowed the rhythm whenever the match threatened to speed up too much. Xhaka recycled possession calmly instead of forcing ambitious passes every few seconds.

Even Alexis, usually pure aggression after gaining montum, looked more asured.

Controlled.

Focused.

Everton tried to raise the intensity early in the half exactly as Wenger predicted. The crowd pushed them forward emotionally while crosses flew into the box repeatedly during the opening minutes.

But Arsenal handled it differently now.

Van Dijk dominated aerially.

Koscielny stayed tighter positionally.

Robertson and Walker picked their monts forward more carefully.

And most importantly, nobody panicked when pressure arrived.

At one point around the fiftieth minute, Everton forced two quick corners in succession. Goodison Park roared louder with each one, trying to drag Arsenal back into emotional defending.

The old version from Watford might have cracked there.

This version didn't.

Cech punched the first corner clear aggressively through traffic before Van Dijk headed the second away with authority. Monts later Francesco dropped deep, received possession under pressure, and calmly recycled the ball backward instead of forcing a risky counterattack.

Tiny decisions.

Massive importance.

"Good!" Wenger shouted imdiately from the sideline.

"Control!"

Francesco heard him clearly.

So did everyone else.

The ga slowly tilted again after that.

Everton's pressing lost so intensity.

Arsenal's confidence grew.

Then ca the third goal.

Fifty-sixth minute.

And this ti it felt like Arsenal fully announcing themselves again.

The move started deep inside Arsenal's own half when Kanté intercepted another forward pass near midfield. The Frenchman imdiately fed Xhaka, who turned sharply away from pressure before switching play wide left toward Robertson.

The Scottish fullback exploded forward into space instantly.

Goodison Park reacted nervously.

Robertson kept driving.

Alexis made an inside run that dragged one defender with him while Francesco occupied both center-backs centrally again.

That left space wide.

Exactly where Robertson wanted it.

The fullback reached the edge of the box before whipping a dangerous low cross across goal.

Fast.

Precise.

And Serge Gnabry arrived perfectly at the back post.

One clean touch.

Goal.

3–1 Arsenal.

The away section erupted again, louder now because relief had finally transford into genuine confidence.

Gnabry sprinted toward the supporters with pure joy written across his face while Robertson pointed toward him screaming in celebration.

Francesco reached them seconds later, grabbing Gnabry around the shoulders.

"There you are!"

"I told you!" Gnabry shouted breathlessly.

"Told what?"

"That I score important goals!"

"You tell everyone that every week."

"Because it keeps happening!"

Robertson laughed beside them while the rest of the team arrived.

Across the touchline Wenger allowed himself the faintest smile.

Tiny.

Controlled.

But visible.

Because this goal mattered beyond the scoreline.

It proved sothing ntally.

Arsenal hadn't just recovered from Watford.

They had learned from it.

Goodison Park grew quieter afterward for the first ti all night.

Not silent.

Never silent.

But frustrated.

Everton supporters sensed the montum slipping away now.

anwhile Arsenal looked freer with every passing minute.

Özil began drifting into spaces almost arrogantly now, controlling tempo with that effortless elegance that frustrated opponents more than flashy skill ever could.

Alexis pressed like a man possessed every ti Everton tried building from the back.

Kanté sohow still covered the entire midfield despite already running endlessly for nearly an hour.

And Francesco kept demanding calm.

Every ti the ga threatened to beco emotional again, he slowed it down.

Simple pass.

Short instruction.

Hands gesturing for patience.

Captaincy wasn't always dramatic.

Sotis it looked like this.

Just helping eleven players breathe correctly inside difficult environnts.

Everton still fought though.

To their credit, they never fully collapsed.

Rooney especially kept pushing, driving forward whenever he found space, trying desperately to pull his team back emotionally into the contest.

At one point he unleashed another long-range effort that forced Cech into a strong save low to his right.

The crowd responded imdiately.

Trying to believe again.

But Arsenal looked too composed now.

Too balanced.

In the sixty-ninth minute, Wenger made his changes.

Theo Walcott replaced Gnabry first.

The young winger jogged off to loud applause from the away supporters after another excellent performance.

As he reached the touchline, Wenger grabbed his shoulder briefly.

"Very good," the manager said.

Gnabry grinned despite obvious exhaustion.

"Told you I score important goals."

Wenger blinked once.

"You also talk too much."

Even Arsène Wenger was not immune to Serge Gnabry's energy.

Monts later Santi Cazorla replaced Xhaka while Héctor Bellerín ca on for Walker.

Fresh legs.

Fresh control.

Across the pitch, Ronald Koeman responded with changes of his own. Two Everton substitutions arrived quickly, including Rooney coming off to a standing ovation from the ho supporters after his spectacular goal earlier.

As Rooney walked off, Francesco gave him a respectful nod near midfield.

The veteran striker nodded back.

Mutual recognition.

Football respected football.

The substitutions shifted the rhythm slightly again.

Everton pushed forward searching desperately for a route back.

But instead Arsenal delivered the final blow.

Seventy-second minute.

Alexis won a dangerous free kick just outside the box after being clipped trying to cut inside between defenders.

Imdiately Goodison Park grew tense.

Because everyone knew who stood over the ball now.

Santi Cazorla placed it carefully on the wet grass while Everton's wall ford nervously.

Francesco stood nearby watching.

The Spaniard looked absurdly calm.

Like a man preparing afternoon tea instead of a free kick in front of thousands.

The referee blew the whistle.

Cazorla took three quick steps forward.

Then magic.

The strike curled beautifully over the wall, bending through the cold air before crashing into the top corner beyond the goalkeeper's fingertips.

Goal.

4–1.

Absolute brilliance.

For half a second even Goodison Park seed stunned silent by the quality of it.

Then the away end exploded into pure noise.

Cazorla sprinted away laughing, arms spread wide while teammates chased after him.

Francesco reached him first again.

"You ridiculous little genius."

Cazorla grinned.

"I saw the space."

"That space was microscopic."

"Still counts."

Alexis arrived screaming in Spanish while Özil simply shook his head smiling.

Even Wenger finally allowed a more visible reaction near the touchline now, clapping firmly toward the players.

Not because of the scoreline alone.

Because of the response.

After Watford, this was exactly what Arsenal needed.

Not perfection.

Strength.

The remaining minutes beca strangely enjoyable after that.

Not relaxed exactly.

Goodison Park still carried intensity.

But Arsenal suddenly played with freedom again.

The fear lingering from Watford had finally disappeared completely.

Now they trusted themselves again.

Walcott's pace stretched Everton repeatedly on counterattacks.

Bellerín overlapped aggressively down the right.

Özil dictated possession beautifully while Cazorla turned through midfield challenges with infuriating ease.

At one point Alexis attempted an outrageous volley from outside the box that flew narrowly wide.

He imdiately looked furious it missed.

Francesco laughed softly watching him.

So things never changed.

"Imagine being angry at 4–1," Robertson muttered nearby.

"That's Alexis."

"Fair point."

The away supporters sang constantly now.

Loud.

Confident.

Their belief returning with every passing minute.

anwhile Everton players looked exhausted emotionally as much as physically. They had thrown everything into the atmosphere early.

Arsenal had survived it.

Then controlled it.

Then punished it.

Still, Francesco never allowed the team to completely relax.

"Concentrate!" he shouted repeatedly.

"Keep shape!"

Because scorelines changed quickly in this league if concentration disappeared.

But Arsenal remained professional all the way to the end.

Then ca the final mont.

Last minute.

Corner kick to Arsenal.

Özil jogged across to take it while Van Dijk, Koscielny, and Francesco moved forward into the box.

Goodison Park barely reacted now.

The energy had drained.

Özil delivered the corner beautifully toward the near-post area.

Koscielny attacked it aggressively.

One sharp movent.

Header.

Goal.

5–1 Arsenal.

The French defender rarely celebrated wildly, but this ti even he roared with satisfaction before teammates mobbed him near the corner flag.

Not arrogance.

Release.

Pure release.

Because this wasn't just a big away win anymore.

It was recovery.

Proof.

Response.

Francesco grabbed Koscielny around the neck laughing breathlessly.

"Now that's how you finish a match."

"Much better than Watford," Laurent admitted.

"Much."

The final few minutes passed almost ceremonially after that.

Everton supporters had grown quiet now, many already leaving early beneath the floodlights while the away section celebrated every completed Arsenal pass like a statent.

Wenger stood calmly near the touchline with arms folded again, but there was satisfaction written clearly across his face now.

Not relief exactly.

Validation.

The lessons from Watford had been understood.

Then finally the whistle ca.

Full ti.

Everton 1.

Arsenal 5.

And imdiately the away supporters erupted again.

Francesco stood still for one brief mont near midfield, breathing heavily while noise crashed down from the Arsenal section behind the goal.

Different feeling now.

Very different.

Not just happiness.

Stability.

The fear from Watford was gone.

Around him teammates embraced each other, exhaustion mixed with adrenaline after ninety brutal minutes at Goodison Park.

Alexis punched the air once fiercely.

Cazorla looked delighted with himself after the free kick.

Gnabry bounced onto the pitch from the bench again sohow still carrying endless energy.

Even Cech smiled faintly while shaking hands with defenders around him.

Francesco turned slowly toward the away supporters and applauded firmly.

The response from them ca instantly.

Louder.

Stronger.

Because they understood too.

This mattered.

Not because Arsenal won.

Because of how they won.

After adversity.

After questions.

After doubt.

Wenger eventually approached from the touchline, shaking hands with several players before stopping briefly beside Francesco.

"Much better," he said calmly.

Francesco nodded once.

"We stayed calm."

"Yes," Wenger replied.

Then the manager glanced back toward the pitch.

"That was the important victory tonight."

Not the five goals.

Not the headlines.

The ntality.

Francesco understood imdiately.

Nearby, Walker wrapped an arm dramatically around Robertson's shoulders.

"See?" he announced loudly. "No rain problem."

Robertson blinked.

"That's your conclusion?"

"My theory survives another week."

"You are exhausting."

"Correct."

Laughter finally moved freely through the squad again.

Real laughter this ti.

Not forced.

Not fragile.

As the Arsenal players slowly walked toward the tunnel beneath the lights of Goodison Park, belief had returned fully now.

Not because they avoided defeat forever.

Because they learned how to respond after finally tasting it again.

______________________________________________

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 17/18 stats:

Arsenal:

Match: 17

Goal: 21

Assist: 1

MOTM: 2

POTM: 0

England:

Match: 2

Goal: 2

Assist: 0

MOTM: 0

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