"Morning."
Anthony greeted the lobby with a quick nod as he stepped into Sky Sports' London headquarters, dressed sharply in a brand-new suit that still felt a little stiff on his shoulders.
He was a football reporter—tracking teams, covering matches, and filing analysis pieces. Thanks to his consistently strong work, he'd recently been transferred to the London office to continue his role at a higher level.
Anthony loved it here. Not because it was London, not because it was prestigious—but because it was close. Very close to the Emirates Stadium.
When he relocated, the first thing he did was rent a place within walking distance of Arsenal's home ground. Weekends meant matches. Matches meant work. And sometimes, work meant standing in the stands wearing an Arsenal shirt, shouting himself hoarse like any other fan.
Professional obligation came second.
Following the directory signs, Anthony made his way to Human Resources, where all new arrivals were expected to check in.
As he stepped inside, he noticed he wasn't alone.
"Well, if it isn't our refined Arsenal gentleman," a familiar voice said with mock enthusiasm.
Drake extended a hand, smiling broadly. To Anthony, that smile was unbearable.
They'd worked together before. Both had been reassigned to London. The only real difference between them was football loyalty.
Anthony bled red and white.
Drake, unfortunately, supported Manchester United.
Had that detail not existed, they might've actually gotten along.
Unfortunately, neither of them was the compromising type.
Anthony shook his hand anyway. "Remind me—where did your lot finish in the league last season? Slipped my mind."
Drake's smile twitched, but he recovered quickly. "And Arsenal's Champions League cabinet—still empty, right? Oh, except for that lovely final where Barcelona sent you home."
Anthony's jaw tightened. His fingers curled briefly before he relaxed them.
"At least we don't play that brand of football," Anthony said flatly.
Drake laughed. "Right. Elegant football. Elegant losses. Elegant—"
He didn't finish the sentence, but Anthony could read the word on his lips easily enough.
Cowards.
"And seriously," Drake continued, leaning back slightly, "when do you think Arsenal will actually win the Champions League? Feels like a long wait."
Anthony opened his mouth to fire back, but before he could, a member of the HR staff spoke up.
"Meeting Room Two. Both of you."
Drake blinked. "A meeting?"
Anthony frowned. Meetings were his least favorite part of the job.
They followed the directions and soon arrived at Meeting Room Two—a spacious room already filled with people.
Department heads. Editors. Analysts.
And several familiar faces from Sky Sports' commentary team.
Anthony's eyes lit up when he spotted Martin Taylor and Alan Smith seated near the front.
Legends—now colleagues.
A bald, middle-aged man who clearly held authority stood at the front and spoke briskly.
"Arsenal released the official report on last night's friendly this morning. Scoreline and performance were… notable. We need immediate analysis and written coverage. Focus on Kai and the new signings."
Anthony blinked.
"Morning?" he whispered to Drake. "Did we miss something?"
Drake shook his head. "No idea."
Both of them pulled out their phones.
The moment Anthony opened the news app, a massive headline filled the screen.
"Arsenal Run Riot! Seven Goals in Pre-Season Match as Sevilla Are Torn Apart!"
Drake stared blankly.
Anthony couldn't help himself. "You're kidding me—what?!"
The room went silent.
Every head turned toward him.
Anthony froze, then quickly lowered his head. "Sorry."
He scrolled down, eyes flying across the text.
"In yesterday's friendly between Arsenal and Sevilla, the Gunners scored seven goals over ninety minutes, conceding just once."
"Suarez completed a hat-trick. Kai, Di Maria, Sanchez, and Cazorla each added a goal."
Anthony felt a surge of excitement rush through him.
Seven goals. Against Sevilla.
This wasn't Nuremberg. Sevilla were a serious side.
And Arsenal had dismantled them.
As a fan, Anthony was buzzing. As a reporter, he was desperate to see the details.
Over the past three years, Arsenal has grown steadily stronger.
This result only confirmed it.
Seven–one.
It was frightening.
The bald director placed a stack of folders on the table. "Full match breakdowns. Tactical notes. Player data."
Anthony practically leaned forward in his chair.
Perhaps his enthusiasm was a little too obvious, because moments later, the director pointed at him.
"Anthony. You'll handle the written feature."
Perfect.
The meeting wrapped up half an hour later, and people began filing out.
As Anthony gathered his things, he glanced at Drake with a grin he didn't bother hiding.
"You asked when we'd win the Champions League?"
Drake said nothing.
Anthony's smile widened.
Drake felt a strange bitterness rise in his chest.
Arsenal looked like a club moving forward—clear direction, confidence, momentum.
Manchester United, meanwhile, still felt stuck in transition. Even with Louis van Gaal arriving, the certainty wasn't there.
As they walked out, Drake couldn't help thinking of one man.
Sir Alex Ferguson.
And how much he missed him.
If Sir Alex Ferguson were still around, he would've bellowed, "We'll crush you!" without a hint of doubt.
But now?
Arsenal was strong, disciplined, and full of confidence. Manchester United, on the other hand, looked like a shadow of its former self. Drake didn't even have the heart to say such a thing aloud—he could only stew in silence and make himself look foolish.
He shook his head and left, telling himself Manchester United would rise again. He just had to be patient. Eventually, the Red Devils would reclaim their glory.
...
At the Colney Training Base, Arsenal's two recent friendly victories had done wonders for morale. The players' confidence was sky-high.
Arsène Wenger had originally hoped that the Sevilla match would temper the squad's exuberance, maybe even force a draw to teach them humility. But Sevilla had collapsed instead.
And they didn't just lose—they completely fell apart. Their defense was sloppy, their attacks limp. By the time Arsenal netted the third goal in the first half, Sevilla had essentially given up. It was awkward watching them stumble so thoroughly.
After Arsenal racked up seven goals, Sevilla barely dared to strike back. Their coach was furious, his face dark with frustration.
But the truth was, Arsenal didn't have to play perfection; Sevilla simply played far below par. Perhaps they were still feeling the aftereffects of the World Cup or hadn't fully snapped out of vacation mode. Whatever the reason, they performed like second-tier players.
Arsenal capitalized on every opportunity. They didn't feel the pressure Wenger had hoped to instill—if anything, they thrived. The squad was now brimming with confidence, fully in control of their play.
The Premier League season would start in just ten days, on August 16th, with Arsenal hosting Crystal Palace. Not a particularly strong opponent, and the team felt certain they could claim three points.
The real challenge would come in the second round: an away game against Everton. Last season, Everton snatched fourth place from Manchester City and secured a Champions League spot. That made them one of Arsenal's toughest opponents—and this time, Arsenal would have to face them on their turf.
The players knew what lay ahead. Confidence was high, but so was the need for focus.
. . .
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