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And with every training session, every tactical repetition, every sprint and every conversation, England moved closer toward the moment when all of their preparation would finally be tested.
Then the day of the quarter-final finally arrived.
There was no mistaking it.
From the moment the England squad woke, the atmosphere carried a different weight.
The jokes were still there, but quieter.
The conversations were shorter.
Nobody needed to say the opponent's name.
Brazil.
By the time the team bus pulled away toward Kazan Arena, most of the players were already sitting in silence, headphones on or staring through the windows.
Francesco sat near Kane.
For several minutes neither spoke.
Then Kane looked across.
"You ready?"
Francesco nodded.
"I think so."
Kane smiled faintly.
"Good."
The bus continued through Kazan.
Outside, the city seemed to know what was coming.
England supporters gathered along the streets.
Brazilian fans stood nearby in yellow shirts.
Flags hung from railings.
Police barriers divided sections of supporters.
Television crews were already positioned outside the stadium.
As the bus approached Kazan Arena, the noise became louder.
Francesco looked through the glass.
Thousands of people were moving toward the entrances.
This wasn't Japan.
This was Brazil.
And everyone knew what was at stake.
When the England bus finally arrived, the players stepped down one by one.
Francesco adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder.
A group of England supporters shouted his name.
He turned and raised a hand.
"Come on, England!"
The response was immediate.
Then he followed his teammates inside.
The stadium corridors were already alive with activity.
Staff moved quickly between rooms.
Security personnel stood near restricted entrances.
Photographers hurried past carrying equipment.
The deeper England went, the more the outside noise became muffled by concrete walls.
Eventually they reached the dressing room.
Their training kits were waiting.
The players changed quickly.
There was no reason to linger.
A few minutes later, the doors opened and England walked out for the warm-up.
The sight of Kazan Arena immediately caught Francesco.
The stands were filling rapidly.
England flags waved in one section.
Brazilian colours dominated another.
The atmosphere seemed to rise with every passing minute.
Cameras surrounded the pitch.
Commentators spoke into microphones.
Photographers moved along the touchline.
Francesco took a slow breath.
Then he started jogging.
The warm-up followed the familiar routine.
Stretching first.
Mobility exercises.
Light jogging.
Then gradual acceleration.
Five metres.
Ten.
Turn.
Recover.
Again.
The conditioning staff watched carefully.
No wasted movements.
No unnecessary exertion.
The players then moved into passing patterns.
Two touches.
One touch.
Receive.
Move.
The ball travelled rapidly between Henderson, Alli and Lingard.
Trippier worked on his delivery from the right.
Rose did the same from the opposite side.
Kane and Francesco moved through finishing exercises, constantly changing their positions.
One moment Kane was dropping toward the edge of the area.
The next, Francesco was running beyond him.
A cross came from Trippier.
Kane attacked it.
Header.
Saved.
Another ball.
Francesco arrived.
Volley.
Alisson's reserve goalkeeper reacted quickly.
"Good," one of the coaches called.
The goalkeepers continued their separate routine.
Pickford moved across his line, diving low and pushing shots away.
One struck his gloves and flew behind him.
Another was gathered cleanly.
He immediately got back to his feet.
"Again!"
The final part of the warm-up involved crossing and finishing.
Trippier delivered.
Rose crossed.
Kane attacked the near post.
Francesco delayed his run.
Lingard arrived late.
The movements were becoming automatic.
That was the point.
Everything England had worked on over the previous days was supposed to become instinct.
Eventually the coaches called them back.
The warm-up was finished.
The players applauded the supporters before disappearing down the tunnel.
Inside the dressing room, the pace immediately increased.
Quick showers.
Towels.
Fresh shirts.
Boots.
Shin pads.
Tape.
The official England match kits were pulled on.
Francesco sat for a moment, tightening the laces on his boots.
Then he looked toward the captain's armband.
It was waiting for him.
He picked it up.
Across the room, Kane was already dressed.
Henderson stood near his locker.
Maguire adjusted his shirt.
Stones looked toward the tactical board.
Then Southgate entered.
The room settled.
"Right."
Everyone looked up.
"The team is unchanged."
He began naming them.
"Pickford."
Jordan nodded.
"Maguire. Stones. Walker."
The defenders acknowledged him.
"Henderson."
Then the wing-backs.
"Rose. Trippier."
The midfield.
"Alli. Lingard."
Finally, Southgate looked toward Kane and Francesco.
"Kane."
Harry nodded.
"And Francesco."
Francesco met his manager's eyes.
"Captain."
He nodded.
Southgate turned toward the screen.
Brazil's lineup appeared.
"Alisson."
Then the defence.
"Marcelo. Miranda. Thiago Silva. Fagner."
The midfield appeared.
"Fernandinho. Coutinho. Paulinho."
And finally the front three.
"Neymar. Gabriel Jesus. Willian."
The room was silent.
Southgate looked around.
"Four-three-three."
The screen showed Brazil's shape.
"They'll rotate. They'll move. They'll try to create overloads and then attack the space you've left behind."
He paused.
"We know this."
Another image appeared.
Brazil building from deep.
"Don't be frightened by their ability."
Southgate's voice was calm.
"Respect it."
He looked toward Henderson.
"Protect the centre."
Then toward the defenders.
"Stay connected."
His attention moved to the midfielders.
"Move the ball quickly."
Then Kane and Francesco.
"When we get forward, be brave."
He pointed toward the screen.
"Brazil will commit players forward. That means there will be spaces."
Southgate's eyes narrowed slightly.
"We must recognise them."
He paused.
"And when we lose the ball?"
Henderson answered.
"React immediately."
"Exactly."
Southgate nodded.
"No cheap possession. No unnecessary risks in dangerous areas. But don't sit back simply because we're playing Brazil."
The room remained completely focused.
"You've earned your place here."
His voice softened.
"Now play like you deserve it."
Francesco looked around the dressing room.
Every player was ready.
He slipped the armband around his left arm.
The familiar weight settled against his sleeve.
Captain again.
Another knockout match.
Another responsibility.
Southgate gave them one final look.
"Let's go."
The players rose together.
The corridor toward the tunnel seemed unusually long.
Francesco walked at the front of the England line.
The young mascot assigned to him stood beside him.
The child looked nervous.
Francesco glanced down.
"You all right?"
The boy nodded quickly.
Francesco smiled.
"Enjoy it."
The child looked toward the pitch.
"It's loud."
Francesco laughed softly.
"It gets louder."
The boy smiled.
Francesco took his hand.
"Come on."
They began walking.
Across the tunnel, the Brazilian players were already waiting.
Neymar stood among them.
Thiago Silva was near the front.
Coutinho spoke quietly with Paulinho.
Gabriel Jesus looked toward the pitch.
The referee appeared.
The line began moving.
Then the tunnel opened.
The noise hit them.
Kazan Arena erupted.
England and Brazil stepped into an enormous wall of sound.
Flags waved everywhere.
England supporters sang.
Brazilian fans responded.
The two groups created a constant roar that seemed to surround the pitch.
Francesco felt his heartbeat accelerate.
He squeezed the mascot's hand gently before the children moved toward their positions.
The teams formed their lines.
Then they moved shoulder-to-shoulder.
England's anthem came first.
Francesco stood proudly at the front.
The captain's armband was clearly visible.
The England supporters sang every word.
Francesco barely noticed the cameras.
He was looking straight ahead.
Brazil's anthem followed.
Their players stood together with the same concentration.
When it finished, the handshakes began.
Francesco moved down the line.
One by one.
Players.
Officials.
Respectful greetings.
Then Thiago Silva reached him.
They shook hands.
"Good luck."
"You too."
The photographers called the teams over.
England's starting eleven gathered for the official photograph.
Francesco stood prominently among them.
Kane beside him.
The defenders behind.
The cameras flashed repeatedly.
Then the players dispersed.
Francesco and Thiago Silva approached the referee for the coin toss.
The referee looked at them.
"Call?"
Thiago Silva answered.
"Right."
The coin went into the air.
It landed.
Brazil won the toss.
England were still awarded the opening kick-off.
Francesco shook Thiago Silva's hand once more.
Then turned toward his teammates.
"Come on."
The players took their positions.
Francesco looked at Kane.
"Start fast."
Kane nodded.
The referee checked his watch.
The whistle sounded.
And the quarter-final began.
England immediately moved the ball.
Henderson received.
Alli offered himself.
Lingard moved between the lines.
Trippier pushed forward.
Brazil pressed.
Fernandinho stepped into Henderson.
The challenge came quickly.
Henderson released the ball before he could be trapped.
The opening minutes were fierce.
Neither side wanted to surrender control.
Brazil moved with extraordinary technical confidence.
Coutinho drifted between midfield and attack.
Paulinho pushed forward.
Neymar moved inside from the left.
Willian stayed wide.
Gabriel Jesus constantly threatened the space behind England's defenders.
England responded with movement of their own.
Kane dropped.
Francesco ran.
Alli found him.
The pass was slightly too strong.
Alisson collected.
Brazil immediately countered.
Neymar received.
Maguire stepped toward him.
Neymar shifted inside.
Stones covered.
Walker came across.
The Brazilian winger tried to slip through.
Walker blocked the route.
The ball went out.
The England supporters applauded.
"Good!"
The intensity continued.
At the twelfth minute, Brazil created their first serious opening.
Coutinho found Neymar.
Neymar moved inside.
Gabriel Jesus pulled Maguire away.
Willian attacked the opposite channel.
The pass came.
Willian struck first time.
Pickford dived.
A strong hand pushed the ball away.
The England supporters roared.
Francesco turned toward Pickford.
"Brilliant!"
Pickford punched the air.
England responded immediately.
Henderson moved the ball forward.
Lingard found Kane.
Kane held off Miranda.
Francesco sprinted beyond him.
Kane tried the pass.
Miranda intercepted.
Brazil escaped.
The midfield battle became increasingly physical.
Henderson collided with Fernandinho.
Coutinho was pressed by Alli.
Paulinho challenged Lingard.
Every loose ball became a contest.
At twenty minutes, England nearly opened the scoring.
Trippier crossed from the right.
Kane attacked.
His header was powerful.
Alisson moved sharply across his line.
Save.
Francesco followed the rebound.
Alisson got there first.
Brazil breathed again.
The match refused to settle.
Neymar was constantly moving.
Maguire and Walker communicated.
"Stay!"
"Inside!"
"Don't follow!"
Gabriel Jesus dropped.
Stones resisted the temptation to chase.
That discipline mattered.
Brazil worked another opening.
Coutinho found Paulinho.
Paulinho shot from outside the area.
Pickford caught it cleanly.
Then England went forward.
Rose pushed up.
Alli received.
Lingard turned.
Francesco found space.
He shot.
Alisson saved again.
Thirty minutes had passed.
Neither side had scored.
But nobody could look away.
The match was balanced on a knife edge.
Every attack felt dangerous.
Every mistake seemed capable of changing everything.
Then came the thirty-seventh minute.
Henderson won the ball.
He gave it to Alli.
Alli moved it forward.
Lingard received and carried it into space.
Kane dropped toward the ball.
Francesco drifted away.
Thiago Silva watched him.
Kane received.
He turned.
For a split second, Francesco saw the space.
He started running.
Kane saw him.
The pass came.
Perfectly weighted.
Francesco accelerated between Miranda and Thiago Silva.
One touch.
Inside the area.
Alisson came forward.
Francesco kept his composure.
He opened his body.
Then finished.
Low.
Precise.
Beyond Alisson.
Into the corner.
Goal.
England 1–0 Brazil.
The stadium exploded.
Francesco didn't even think.
He turned and sprinted toward Kane.
Harry was already running toward him.
They collided.
Kane grabbed him around the shoulders.
"Yes!"
Francesco shouted.
"That ball!"
Kane laughed.
"You made the run!"
Alli arrived.
Lingard followed.
Henderson came sprinting from midfield.
Trippier was shouting.
The England players surrounded their captain.
Francesco disappeared beneath the celebration.
On the touchline, Southgate punched the air once before immediately raising his hands.
"Focus!"
The players heard him.
Southgate pointed toward the centre circle.
"Back!"
Francesco broke away.
He looked at the scoreboard.
England 1–0 Brazil.
But he knew better than anyone.
There were still more than fifty minutes remaining.
Brazil would respond.
And they did.
The restart was immediate.
Coutinho received.
Neymar moved.
Willian sprinted.
Gabriel Jesus attacked the box.
England dropped into shape.
Maguire cleared one cross.
Stones intercepted another.
Walker chased Neymar toward the corner.
Brazil kept coming.
England still tried to attack whenever the opportunity appeared.
Kane held the ball.
Francesco moved beyond him.
Lingard found a pocket.
Trippier crossed.
Alisson punched clear.
The final minutes of the half became frantic.
Brazil came close again when Neymar curled a shot toward the far corner.
Pickford stretched.
The ball went just wide.
England answered with a counterattack.
Francesco released Kane.
Kane shot.
Alisson saved.
The rebound was cleared by Miranda.
The referee checked his watch.
Forty-three minutes.
Forty-four.
Brazil continued pressing.
England defended.
Henderson won a crucial challenge.
Maguire headed away another cross.
Then finally came the whistle.
Half-time.
England 1–0 Brazil.
Francesco exhaled as he walked toward the tunnel.
Kane caught up.
"That's some half."
Francesco nodded.
"Need another one."
"Definitely."
Inside the dressing room, water bottles were opened immediately.
Players sat wherever they could.
Some remained standing.
Everyone was breathing heavily.
Henderson wiped his face with a towel.
"They're going to come hard."
Francesco nodded.
"They have to."
The door opened.
Southgate entered.
The room quietened.
He looked around.
"Good."
The players listened.
"We've earned that lead."
He paused.
"But that's all it is."
A one-goal lead.
"Brazil will come out aggressively."
Southgate moved toward the tactical board.
"They'll try to pin us back. We cannot retreat until we're sitting on top of Pickford."
He looked at the defenders.
"Stay compact."
Then the midfield.
"Keep the ball."
Then the attackers.
"And keep attacking."
Francesco looked up.
Southgate pointed toward the board.
"When they commit numbers, there will be space."
He tapped the area behind Brazil's midfield.
"We have to be brave enough to use it."
The manager's voice became firmer.
"Do not become passive because we're ahead."
Nobody moved.
"We've played well enough to lead because we've played football."
He looked around the room.
"So keep playing."
Francesco tightened the captain's armband.
Southgate continued.
"Defend together. Attack together. React when we lose it."
A pause.
"You've got forty-five minutes."
He looked directly at Francesco.
"Lead them."
Francesco nodded.
The room remained quiet for another moment.
Then Kane stood.
Henderson followed.
One by one, the players rose.
Francesco looked around at his teammates.
Maguire.
Stones.
Walker.
Henderson.
Rose.
Alli.
Lingard.
Trippier.
Kane.
Every face showed the same thing.
They were tired.
But nobody wanted to stop.
Brazil were waiting outside.
The second half was waiting too.
Francesco pulled his shirt straight.
The armband sat firmly against his arm.
He took one slow breath.
Then turned toward the door.
England had earned their lead.
Now they had to prove they could keep it.
And with Francesco walking at the front of the group once again, the England players headed back toward the tunnel.
As Francesco reached the tunnel.
The noise from inside Kazan Arena was already beginning to build again.
He could hear the Brazilian supporters before the players had even emerged, their drums and chants rolling through the concrete corridors. The England supporters answered from the opposite side, louder now, almost as if they could sense what was coming.
Francesco stopped for half a second.
He looked back.
Kane was there.
Henderson.
Alli.
Lingard.
Trippier.
The entire England side.
Francesco raised his hand.
"Together."
Kane nodded.
"Together."
Then they walked out.
The second half began with the same intensity that had defined the opening forty-five minutes, only now there was something different hanging over the game.
England had a lead.
Brazil had nothing to lose.
The referee's whistle sounded.
Coutinho immediately moved toward the ball.
Brazil pushed forward.
Neymar received on the left and turned toward Walker. Gabriel Jesus sprinted through the centre. Willian attacked the opposite flank.
England dropped.
Not deep.
Just enough.
Maguire shouted.
"Stay compact!"
Stones moved alongside him.
Walker tracked Neymar.
Henderson dropped into the space in front of the defence.
The first Brazilian attack ended with a cross that Maguire headed away.
The ball fell to Coutinho.
He struck from distance.
Pickford dropped quickly and caught it against his chest.
"Come on!" Henderson shouted.
England tried to breathe.
They barely had time.
Brazil attacked again.
This time Willian found space.
He crossed low.
Gabriel Jesus arrived.
Stones threw himself across the path of the striker and deflected the ball behind.
The Brazilian supporters roared in frustration.
The corner came in.
Maguire rose.
Header away.
England survived.
But the pressure was relentless.
Francesco found himself dropping deeper than he wanted, helping Henderson and Alli whenever Brazil tried to overload the middle.
Then, suddenly, the ball was won.
Henderson found Kane.
Kane turned.
Francesco was already running.
"Go!"
Kane released him.
Francesco accelerated into space.
Miranda turned.
Thiago Silva moved across.
Fernandinho recovered.
Three yellow shirts converged.
Francesco still managed to get a shot away.
Alisson saved.
The rebound bounced loose.
Alli attacked it.
A Brazilian defender cleared.
Francesco clapped his hands.
"Again!"
The match had become a battle of moments.
Brazil attacked.
England countered.
Brazil pressed.
England tried to play through it.
Pickford made another save when Neymar curled a dangerous effort toward the far post.
Alisson responded minutes later by denying Kane from a tight angle.
Neither goalkeeper was being allowed to relax.
At the fifty-second minute, England finally began to regain some control.
Henderson received under pressure.
Instead of forcing the forward pass, he moved it sideways.
Alli took one touch.
Lingard moved inside.
Trippier pushed higher.
Francesco drifted away from Thiago Silva.
That movement caught the Brazilian captain's attention.
He followed for a moment.
Then stopped.
Francesco immediately changed direction.
He was gone.
Trippier saw it.
The right-back received the ball near the touchline.
He looked up.
One second.
That was all he needed.
The cross left his boot with perfect pace.
It wasn't aimed at the goalkeeper.
It wasn't aimed at the near post.
It was placed into the space between Alisson and the centre-backs.
Francesco attacked it.
His timing was perfect.
Miranda realised too late.
Francesco reached the ball first.
One touch.
A calm finish.
Past Alisson.
Into the net.
For a moment, the entire stadium seemed to freeze.
Then the England end exploded.
"YES!"
Francesco turned immediately.
He didn't stop to think.
He sprinted toward the travelling supporters.
Both arms went up.
He slid to his knees in front of the England fans, his face breaking into a huge smile as the supporters screamed his name.
"FRANCESCO!"
"FRANCESCO!"
The sound seemed endless.
Kane reached him first.
He grabbed Francesco from behind and pulled him upright.
"You've done it again!"
Francesco was laughing.
"Trippier!"
Trippier arrived, pointing toward himself.
"That's my assist!"
Alli wrapped an arm around Francesco.
Lingard was shouting.
Henderson came charging across from midfield.
The entire group surrounded their captain.
For several seconds, Francesco disappeared beneath England shirts.
The supporters were still singing.
England 2–0 Brazil.
Two goals for Francesco.
The captain had done it again.
On the touchline, Southgate celebrated with both fists clenched.
But almost immediately he pointed toward the centre circle.
"Back!"
His expression changed.
"Back!"
Francesco heard him.
He looked toward the scoreboard.
There was still more than half an hour left.
He turned toward Kane.
"Come on."
Kane nodded.
"Still work."
They jogged back.
Brazil restarted.
And this time there was anger in their football.
Neymar demanded the ball.
Coutinho pushed higher.
Fernandinho began taking more risks.
Brazil threw numbers forward.
England were forced into longer periods without possession.
Southgate didn't panic.
He stood near the technical area, watching.
The instruction was clear.
Stay compact.
Don't chase.
Wait.
England gradually changed their approach.
Instead of pressing Brazil everywhere, they allowed the Brazilian defenders to have the ball.
The midfield narrowed.
Francesco and Kane remained ready for the moment possession turned over.
Brazil began committing more players forward.
Marcelo moved high.
Fagner pushed forward.
Paulinho joined attacks.
Coutinho drifted closer to Neymar.
That created space.
Huge spaces.
And England were waiting for them.
At the sixty-ninth minute, Henderson won the ball.
He immediately looked up.
There it was.
A gap behind the Brazilian midfield.
Alli had already seen it.
Henderson played the pass.
Quick.
Precise.
Alli burst forward.
Fernandinho was too high.
Brazil's centre-backs were retreating.
Alisson came off his line.
Alli kept his composure.
One touch.
Then he finished.
The ball went beyond Alisson.
Into the net.
3–0.
The England supporters erupted again.
Alli turned toward the corner.
His teammates chased him.
Henderson was laughing.
"That's it!"
Alli punched the air.
Francesco ran over and grabbed him.
"Brilliant!"
Alli smiled.
"You started it."
The Brazilian players stood scattered around the pitch.
They had committed themselves to attacking.
England had punished them.
Tite stood near the touchline, staring toward the pitch.
He knew exactly what had happened.
Brazil had needed goals.
But in pushing forward, they had given England the spaces they had been warned about.
The match became increasingly physical.
Challenges became harder.
Players were beginning to feel the accumulated fatigue.
Francesco took a heavy breath as he jogged back into position.
His legs felt heavy now.
Kane looked toward him.
"You all right?"
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
But both knew the intensity had taken its toll.
Southgate looked toward his bench.
Then toward Francesco.
The decision came.
"Francesco!"
The captain looked over.
Southgate pointed toward the sideline.
"That's enough."
Francesco understood.
Kane was coming too.
Lingard as well.
At the seventy-sixth minute, the fourth official raised the board.
Three numbers.
Francesco.
Kane.
Lingard.
And three replacements.
Rashford.
Sterling.
Rooney.
The England supporters stood immediately.
The applause began before Francesco even reached the halfway line.
He slowed.
He looked toward the stands.
The noise grew.
Kane walked beside him.
Lingard was smiling.
Francesco raised his hands in acknowledgment.
He had given everything.
Two goals.
One captain's performance.
And now his night was finished.
As he stepped over the touchline, the applause became enormous.
Francesco turned and applauded the supporters.
Then Kane embraced him.
"Brilliant."
Francesco smiled.
"You too."
Lingard joined them.
"Not bad."
Francesco laughed.
"Not bad?"
Lingard shrugged.
"I'm trying to stay humble."
"Don't."
They laughed.
Rooney entered the pitch wearing the captain's armband.
Francesco watched as he took over the leadership role.
"Finish it," Francesco called.
Rooney looked back.
"We will."
At almost the same moment, Brazil made their own changes.
Tite withdrew Willian.
Gabriel Jesus followed.
Paulinho came off.
Firmino entered.
Then Diego Costa.
Renato Augusto completed the changes.
Fresh legs.
Fresh energy.
Brazil had decided there was still a way back.
From the substitutes' area, Francesco watched carefully.
Rooney immediately began organising England.
"Keep the ball!"
He pointed toward Henderson.
"Slow it down!"
England were no longer chasing another goal.
They were controlling the game.
Rashford and Sterling remained high.
Whenever Brazil overcommitted, they sprinted.
One counterattack almost produced a fourth.
Henderson won possession.
Rooney received.
He waited until Sterling was clear.
The pass went forward.
Sterling raced down the right.
Rashford attacked the box.
Sterling crossed.
Miranda intercepted at the last moment.
The England supporters groaned.
Francesco stood and applauded anyway.
"Good!"
Brazil came straight back.
Firmino began causing problems.
He dropped between the lines.
Stones followed halfway, then stopped himself.
The lessons from the tactical meetings were clear.
Don't destroy the shape.
Firmino moved again.
Neymar received.
Walker closed him down.
Neymar crossed.
Maguire headed away.
Another attack.
Diego Costa challenged Stones.
The ball bounced loose.
Henderson cleared.
Brazil were throwing everything forward.
England were defending with everything they had.
At the eighty-third minute, Pickford made another crucial save.
Neymar received outside the box.
He shifted past Walker.
One touch inside.
Then he struck.
Pickford flew across.
His fingertips touched the ball.
It went around the post.
The England supporters roared as if another goal had been scored.
Pickford punched the air.
"Come on!"
Francesco felt his heart pounding even from the bench.
Three goals ahead.
Yet Brazil still looked dangerous.
That was Brazil.
One chance could change everything.
And at the eighty-seventh minute, it almost did.
Renato Augusto found space.
Coutinho played the ball forward.
Firmino dragged Stones slightly away.
The gap appeared.
Renato Augusto attacked it.
The finish was clean.
Pickford couldn't reach it.
Goal.
3–1.
The Brazilian supporters exploded.
For a brief moment, the entire stadium seemed to wake up again.
Francesco stood immediately.
Brazilian players grabbed the ball.
They were running back to the centre circle.
There was belief in their faces.
An impossible comeback suddenly didn't look quite so impossible.
Southgate shouted from the touchline.
"Stay calm!"
Rooney gathered the players.
"Settle!"
Henderson moved toward the ball.
"We've got this."
Francesco watched from the sideline.
His hands were clasped together.
Three-one.
Three minutes plus stoppage time.
Brazil pushed again.
The crosses came.
Maguire cleared one.
Stones cleared another.
Walker defended the right side relentlessly.
Rooney slowed the next attack by winning a foul.
The referee's whistle brought a moment of relief.
England took their time.
Brazil protested.
Rooney simply walked away.
Another attack.
Neymar crossed.
Maguire rose above everyone.
Header away.
The ball fell to Coutinho.
Henderson closed him down.
Coutinho tried to find Firmino.
Henderson intercepted.
He turned.
Then carried the ball away from danger.
The clock continued moving.
Ninety minutes.
The fourth official raised the board.
Four minutes of added time.
Four minutes.
Francesco looked toward the scoreboard.
Kane stood beside him.
Neither said anything.
They didn't need to.
Brazil attacked.
Sterling chased.
Rashford chased.
Rooney dropped deeper.
Henderson controlled possession whenever he could.
The Brazilian players were desperate now.
One final cross.
Stones headed it away.
Another.
Maguire cleared.
Neymar tried to run at Walker.
Walker stayed with him.
The ball went out.
England took the throw.
Rooney received.
He shielded the ball.
A Brazilian player fouled him.
The seconds disappeared.
Ninety-three.
The England supporters were singing again.
Not nervously.
Loudly.
Proudly.
Francesco could hear them from the bench.
Then came the final Brazilian attack.
Coutinho sent the ball forward.
Firmino tried to reach it.
Stones intercepted.
He cleared.
The ball travelled beyond halfway.
The referee looked at his watch.
One more second.
Then the whistle sounded.
Full-time.
England 3–1 Brazil.
For a moment, Francesco simply stared at the pitch.
Then everything broke loose.
Rooney threw both arms into the air.
Henderson shouted.
Maguire punched the air.
Walker turned toward the supporters.
Sterling sprinted toward the corner.
Rashford jumped onto Rooney.
The England bench exploded.
Southgate turned toward his staff, both fists clenched.
They had done it.
Brazil.
Defeated.
England were through to the World Cup semi-final.
Francesco felt something tighten in his chest.
He had known they could compete.
He had believed in them.
But knowing something was possible and actually seeing it happen were completely different things.
He stepped onto the pitch.
Kane saw him.
They embraced.
"We beat Brazil."
Francesco laughed.
"We actually beat Brazil."
Kane shook his head.
"Three-one."
"Three-one."
Trippier came running over.
"Two goals!"
Francesco pointed at him.
"And your cross."
Trippier grinned.
"Don't forget it."
Alli joined them.
"And mine."
Henderson arrived.
"Everyone's taking credit now."
The group laughed.
But then they looked toward the scoreboard.
3–1.
England.
Brazil.
It was real.
The supporters were going wild.
Flags waved above the stands.
Players applauded the travelling fans.
Some England players fell to their knees.
Others simply stood there, exhausted, trying to absorb what they had accomplished.
Francesco turned toward the supporters.
He raised both arms.
The response was deafening.
He looked back at his teammates.
This hadn't been one man's victory.
His brace had mattered.
Trippier's delivery had mattered.
Alli's finish had mattered.
Henderson's interception had mattered.
Pickford's saves had mattered.
Maguire, Stones and Walker had fought for every ball.
Kane had created the opening.
Rooney had controlled the final minutes.
Everyone had contributed.
Japan had been the first knockout test.
Brazil had been something else entirely.
And England had survived them too.
Francesco finally looked toward Southgate.
The manager was standing near the touchline, surrounded by his staff.
Their eyes met.
Southgate smiled.
Francesco smiled back.
No speech was necessary.
The semi-final was waiting.
England were among the final four of the World Cup.
And as Francesco stood beneath the lights of Kazan Arena with his teammates around him and the England supporters singing into the night.
__________________________________________________
Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 19 (2017)
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, FA Cup 2016/2017, 2016/2017 Champions League, 2017/2018 Carabao Cup, Premier League 2017/2018, FA Cup 2017/2018, and Champions League 2017/2018.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 59
Goal: 76
Assist: 6
MOTM: 7
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 9
Goal: 11
Assist: 1
MOTM: 4
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