Gyokeres sign new deal to the team , Arsenal welcome new player to the team

In Lisbon, the night felt unusually quiet. But inside the Sporting CP boardroom, there was a storm brewing — the kind you don’t see, only feel in the nervous glances, whispered phone calls, and the way men in suits pace the floor when they know something precious is slipping away. Viktor Gyökeres, their lion, their machine, was leaving.

No one said it out loud at first. It hurt too much. You don’t just replace 97 goals. You don’t just smile as Europe steals the heart of your team. But deep down, they knew. The Swedish force who had bulldozed through defenses, who had led them to a league and cup double, was already halfway out the door.

And the worst part? He was going to England. The London club had been circling for months, lurking in the shadows while other suitors came and went. But Arsenal never left. They waited. They watched. They planned. And now, as summer crept deeper and the window ticked toward deadline, they struck.

It wasn’t just money — it was a message. They weren’t just buying a striker. They were buying **dominance**. They were building a monster. A team that could no longer be laughed off by City or dismissed by United. Mikel Arteta had a vision, and Gyökeres was no longer a target. He was the cornerstone.

The deal wasn’t done yet, but it might as well have been. The five-year contract was agreed. Personal terms? Sorted. All that remained were final haggles — the kind agents love and fans hate — about structure, bonuses, clauses that might never be triggered but still take hours to fight over.

Viktor was ready. He wasn’t nervous. This wasn’t arrogance. This was destiny. He had bled for Sporting — 54 goals last season alone. He had owned the Champions League nights, bagging six in eight. But now, it was time for something bigger. The Premier League. The Emirates. The Arsenal crest on his chest. Sporting knew. And they weren’t crying. They were moving. Because while Viktor’s name lit up headlines, another one was being scribbled in boardrooms and WhatsApp chats across Iberia

Luis was quiet thunder. The kind of player who didn’t shout but struck. Last season, with Almería in the Segunda División, he tore the league apart. 27 goals. 8 assists. 41 games of relentless precision. He was a striker who had something Viktor didn’t — humility forged in struggle. Almería didn’t win the league. They didn’t even make automatic promotion. But Luis? He walked away with the golden boot. And now, Sporting were calling. Talks accelerated fast. There was no time to waste. Almería wanted to negotiate, but Sporting weren’t asking — they were taking. The striker was told to pack. The plane would come soon. Lisbon awaited. He wasn’t just filling shoes. He was being handed a kingdom to rule.

Back in North London, Gyökeres prepared for the final stretch. His bags were ready. The Arsenal training kit was waiting, folded in a locker next to names like Saka, Ødegaard, and Rice. He would be the missing piece — the No. 9 that Arsenal hadn’t had since Van Persie made enemies. No more false nines. No more project strikers. Viktor was the real thing. And Arteta? He didn’t just want him. He needed him. You don’t survive in modern football without a killer. And Viktor didn’t just score. He terrified. He bullied. He ran until the grass tore under his boots. And now, all that fury was coming to the Emirates

Meanwhile, in a modest hotel near Lisbon Airport, Luis Suárez sat by the window and stared into the night. He hadn’t said yes. Not yet. But his heart had. He knew what this meant. He wasn’t just switching clubs. He was being trusted. Handed the keys to a castle that had just lost its king. He thought about Viktor. About the shadow he’d be stepping into. About the fans who might never forgive the change. But Luis wasn’t here to copy. He was here to conquer in his own way.

Sporting fans had cried when Viktor lifted the cup. They sang his name like a war chant. But Luis knew — in football, memories fade fast. Score goals, and the people love you. Miss chances, and they forget. There’s no room for ghosts. The two men would never meet. One flew north, the other south. But their fates were intertwined. As Viktor’s name lit up Arsenal forums, Luis’s name was being scribbled across Portuguese newspapers. One out. One in. And the machine kept turning.

Sporting’s manager didn’t sleep much that night. How do you replace 97 goals? You don’t. You reinvent. He called his assistants. They watched tapes. Luis wasn’t as tall. Not as brutal. But he was clever. He moved like a whisper. Found space where others found bodies. He scored from angles that seemed impossible. And more than that — he was hungry. In football, hunger beats hype. Every time.

Back in London, Arsenal fans were dreaming. A Swedish striker with Viking fury, wearing red. They posted edits. “Viktor the Invincible.” They imagined him slamming the ball past Liverpool’s Alisson, silencing City’s Etihad, dragging them to the title they’d been chasing since 2004.

He hadn’t played a single minute yet. But already, he was their hope. The media swirled with numbers. “Minutes per goal: 79.” “Games: 52.” “Goals: 54.” Stats that looked made up. But they weren’t. Viktor had done it all. And now he’d do it on a bigger stage. But even legends bleed.

And as he sat with his agent, waiting for the green light to fly, Viktor thought of Lisbon. The fans. The roar. The green and white. He had loved them. Grown with them. But this is football. It never stands still. Not for loyalty. Not for love. Luis landed in Lisbon under low clouds. No cameras. No chants. Just a few staff and a driver holding a sign. He didn’t need a red carpet. He’d earn one.

That night, as the city slept, one striker said goodbye to the place that made him. Another stepped into the boots left behind. And in two cities — one old, one new — dreams shifted. Legacies moved. Arsenal were about to announce a beast. Sporting were about to build another.And the story was only just beginning.