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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
And it continued under the quiet London sky at London Colney.
The ball rippled the net and rolled gently back across the grass.
For a brief second the training ground fell quiet except for the soft rustle of wind moving across the trees surrounding London Colney Training Centre.
Francesco slowed his run after curling the shot past the goalkeeper during the finishing drill. The movement had come naturally receive the pass, open the body, guide the ball toward the far corner.
Simple.
Clean.
Exactly the kind of finish that had become routine for him.
Across the pitch, Arsène Wenger observed without saying anything. The manager rarely reacted loudly during training. When something impressed him, it usually showed only in a subtle nod or a brief word later.
Walker jogged past Francesco and nudged his shoulder.
"Show-off."
Francesco smirked.
"You'd miss too."
Walker shrugged dramatically.
"I'm a defender. Missing is expected."
Nearby, Mesut Özil casually rolled another ball forward with the inside of his boot.
"Ready again?" he asked.
Francesco nodded.
"Always."
The drill resumed.
Another pass.
Another shot.
Another save.
Training continued under the mild London sky.
That day ended the same way most training sessions did as players walking back toward the locker room, sweat-soaked shirts clinging to their backs while conversations drifted between tactics, jokes, and plans for the evening.
But more importantly, it marked the beginning of the final stretch before the season.
And the days ahead would move quickly.
The next seven days passed with the steady rhythm that defined professional football life.
Morning after morning, the squad gathered again at London Colney Training Centre.
Each day followed a familiar structure.
Warm-up runs.
Stretching routines.
Possession drills.
Tactical formations.
Small-sided matches.
Recovery sessions.
It was repetitive.
But that repetition built something important, understanding between players.
Connections.
Chemistry.
The closer the new Premier League season approached, the sharper everything became.
Passes moved faster.
Pressing grew more intense.
Defenders closed space quicker.
Attackers demanded the ball with greater urgency.
The casual atmosphere of preseason slowly faded, replaced by the sharper edge of competition.
Francesco could feel it every time he stepped onto the training pitch.
The season was coming.
And every player wanted to be ready.
Among the many small developments during that week, one story quietly began to unfold.
The arrival of David Raya.
The young goalkeeper had arrived from Blackburn Rovers only days earlier, but he had already started attracting attention during training.
Goalkeeping sessions usually happened at one end of the training ground.
While the outfield players practiced passing combinations or tactical drills, the goalkeepers worked separately with their specialized coach.
Francesco noticed it one morning while jogging along the sideline during warm-ups.
Raya threw himself low to his left, stretching fully to stop a fast shot.
The ball stuck cleanly to his gloves.
Quick reaction.
Strong hands.
He sprang back up immediately, ready for the next shot.
Beside him stood the veteran goalkeeper.
Petr Čech.
Even during training, Čech carried the calm authority of someone who had experienced everything football could throw at him.
He watched Raya closely.
Then after the drill finished, he stepped forward and spoke to the young Spaniard.
Francesco couldn't hear the exact words from across the pitch, but the body language was clear.
Advice.
Correction.
Encouragement.
The kind of mentorship that only experienced players could provide.
Later that same morning, during a break between drills, Francesco walked toward the water station and found Čech standing nearby.
"New guy looks good," Francesco said casually.
Čech nodded thoughtfully.
"Yes."
"He has good instincts."
Francesco leaned against the barrier fence.
"You like him?"
Čech smiled slightly.
"He works hard."
"That is the most important part."
Francesco nodded.
In football, talent alone rarely guaranteed success.
Work ethic mattered more.
Across the field, Raya continued working with the goalkeeper coach.
Dive.
Recover.
Catch.
Distribution drills.
Čech watched for another moment before adding something else quietly.
"He could be very good one day."
Francesco raised an eyebrow.
"That confident?"
Čech shrugged lightly.
"He reminds me of young goalkeepers I have seen before."
"Quick reactions."
"Good mentality."
Francesco understood immediately what the veteran keeper was implying.
"Successor?"
Čech didn't answer directly.
But the small smile on his face said enough.
Throughout that week, something interesting developed.
Čech began spending more time with Raya.
Not just during training drills.
But after them.
Sometimes the two goalkeepers remained on the pitch long after the others had gone inside.
Practicing distribution.
Working on positioning.
Talking through situations that might happen during matches.
One afternoon, Francesco stayed behind for extra shooting practice.
Giroud stood nearby collecting balls.
As Francesco lined up another shot, he noticed Raya standing in goal.
Čech stood behind him, arms folded.
"Ready?" Francesco asked.
Raya nodded.
"Always."
Francesco struck the ball firmly toward the top corner.
Raya exploded upward.
Glove stretched.
The ball tipped over the crossbar.
Francesco whistled.
"Nice save."
Behind the goal, Čech nodded approvingly.
"Good timing."
Giroud leaned over and muttered to Francesco.
"He's learning fast."
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
Another shot followed.
Another save.
Another piece of advice from the veteran goalkeeper.
The relationship between them was becoming clear.
Teacher and student.
Experience guiding youth.
And in a profession where careers could change quickly, having someone like Čech as a mentor could shape a young goalkeeper's future.
At the same time, another new arrival was beginning his own journey.
Konstantinos Mavropanos.
The tall young defender from PAS Giannina had joined with far less media attention than many other signings.
But within the training ground, coaches had already begun noticing his potential.
Strong physically.
Good in the air.
Aggressive when defending.
During one small-sided match, Mavropanos stepped forward to intercept a through pass intended for Francesco.
The tackle was clean.
Perfectly timed.
Francesco stopped his run and nodded.
"Nice one."
The young defender looked relieved.
Moments later he cleared another cross with a powerful header.
Walker laughed from the sideline.
"Greek wall!"
Mavropanos smiled shyly.
But despite those moments of promise, Wenger remained cautious.
The step from Greek league football to Premier League intensity was enormous.
And Wenger rarely rushed young players into senior competition too quickly.
One afternoon after training ended, Wenger called Mavropanos aside.
Francesco happened to be nearby collecting his gear when the conversation began.
Wenger spoke calmly, hands clasped behind his back.
"You have good talent."
Mavropanos nodded respectfully.
"Thank you, boss."
"But development takes time," Wenger continued.
"The Premier League is very demanding."
The young defender listened carefully.
"So for now," Wenger said, "you will train regularly with us."
"But you will play matches with the U-21 team."
It wasn't a rejection.
It was a pathway.
A chance to grow.
Mavropanos nodded firmly.
"I understand."
Wenger smiled slightly.
"If you work hard, your opportunity will come."
And so the week continued.
Training sessions filled the mornings.
Recovery and gym work filled the afternoons.
Evenings belonged to rest, family, or quiet moments away from football.
Francesco returned home each night to his mansion in Richmond.
Sometimes Leah had dinner waiting.
Sometimes they ordered food.
Sometimes they simply sat in the garden while Cheddar ran in chaotic circles chasing insects.
One evening Leah asked him while they sat outside beneath the fading sunset.
"How's the new goalkeeper?"
Francesco took a sip of water.
"Good."
"Really good actually."
She raised an eyebrow.
"That confident?"
"Čech likes him."
Leah nodded.
"Well… that's probably the best approval he could get."
Francesco laughed softly.
She wasn't wrong.
If Čech believed a goalkeeper had potential, that meant something.
By the end of the week, the atmosphere at London Colney Training Centre had changed again.
The friendly calm of preseason had faded almost entirely.
Now every drill carried a sharper edge.
Players fought harder for positions.
Starting spots mattered.
Every pass.
Every tackle.
Every shot.
All of it mattered.
Because the new Premier League season was about to begin.
Francesco could feel the familiar excitement building inside him again.
That feeling every footballer recognized.
The anticipation of the first match.
The roar of the crowd.
The pressure.
The adrenaline.
One afternoon, as training ended and the players began walking back toward the locker room, Walker nudged him again.
"Ready for the season?"
Francesco smiled.
"Always."
Behind them, Wenger remained on the training pitch for a moment longer, quietly observing the players as they left.
The squad had changed slightly.
New faces had arrived.
Others had departed.
But the core remained strong.
And under the quiet London sky, the preparation for another long campaign was complete.
Morning arrived quietly over Hertfordshire.
A thin layer of mist still clung to the grass around London Colney Training Centre when the first players began arriving. Groundskeepers had already finished preparing the pitches, leaving perfect green stripes stretching across the fields like carefully painted lines.
It was the kind of calm morning that existed just before the intensity of training began.
Francesco stepped out of his familiar BMW and stretched slightly before slinging his training bag over his shoulder. The air carried that fresh early-morning smell of damp grass and cool wind drifting across the countryside outside London.
Inside the building the usual sounds had already begun.
Lockers opening.
Boots hitting the floor.
Music quietly playing from someone's phone.
Giroud was already there, sitting on the bench while tying his boots.
"Morning," the French striker said.
"Morning."
Francesco dropped his bag beside his locker and began changing into his training kit.
Across the room Walker was arguing with Robertson about something completely pointless.
"No way," Walker insisted.
Robertson shook his head.
"You're wrong."
"Absolutely wrong."
"What are we even arguing about?" Giroud asked.
Walker looked over.
"Best stadium atmosphere."
Robertson crossed his arms.
"Anfield."
Walker pointed dramatically.
"Exactly why you're wrong."
The room erupted with laughter.
Francesco pulled his shirt over his head and sat down to lace his boots.
Just another normal training morning.
But a few minutes later something slightly unusual happened.
The dressing room door opened again.
Standing there was Arsène Wenger.
The players instinctively quieted a little.
Wenger didn't usually enter the dressing room this early unless something specific was happening.
His calm eyes scanned the room before settling on Francesco.
"Francesco."
Francesco looked up.
"Yes, boss?"
"Come with me for a moment."
Walker immediately leaned toward Robertson.
"Uh oh."
Robertson whispered back.
"Someone's in trouble."
Francesco rolled his eyes and stood up.
"I'll be back."
He followed Wenger out into the hallway.
They walked together toward the edge of the training pitch.
Morning sunlight was beginning to break through the clouds now, casting long shadows across the grass.
Wenger stopped near the touchline and turned toward him.
"I have a small request," Wenger said calmly.
Francesco raised an eyebrow.
"Sounds dangerous already."
Wenger smiled slightly.
"I would like you to visit the youth training session today."
Francesco blinked.
"The academy?"
"Yes."
"To show some guidance."
Francesco stared at him for a second.
Then he laughed.
A real laugh.
"Boss…"
Wenger raised an eyebrow.
"Yes?"
Francesco shook his head.
"I'm also a young talent."
"I'm eighteen."
The words hung in the air for a moment.
Then Wenger laughed too.
A rare, genuine laugh.
"Yes," the manager admitted.
"But no young talent wins the Ballon d'Or at eighteen."
Francesco folded his arms.
"Fair point."
Wenger continued calmly.
"And very few young talents win the UEFA European Championship for their country."
Francesco couldn't argue with that either.
The manager tilted his head slightly.
"You are young."
"But you are also an example."
He gestured toward the training complex behind them.
"The academy players look up to the first team."
"Seeing you train… hearing your experience… it will inspire them."
Francesco thought about it for a moment.
Then he nodded.
"Alright."
"Where do I go?"
Wenger pointed toward another section of the training complex further down the road.
"The academy pitch."
"You will find Per Mertesacker there."
Francesco smiled.
"Big Per."
Wenger nodded.
"He will accompany you."
Francesco shrugged lightly.
"Sounds fun."
Wenger gave a small approving nod.
"Good."
"Now go before Walker starts inventing rumors about you."
Francesco laughed.
Too late for that.
A few minutes later Francesco was walking across another section of the Arsenal training complex.
The academy pitches sat slightly separated from the main first-team area.
They weren't smaller or worse—just quieter.
Younger.
Less pressure.
But the energy there was different.
It carried the restless excitement of players who were still chasing the dream.
Francesco approached the main academy field just as a group of teenagers were finishing their warm-up runs.
Shouts echoed across the grass.
"Faster!"
"Keep the ball moving!"
"Press!"
At the center of the pitch stood a tall familiar figure.
Per Mertesacker.
The former Arsenal defender had retired from professional football not long ago and had stepped into a new role as the club's Academy Manager.
He still looked exactly like he had during his playing days.
Tall.
Calm.
Commanding.
Mertesacker noticed Francesco approaching and immediately smiled.
"Ah."
"There he is."
Francesco walked onto the pitch.
"Morning, Per."
The German shook his hand firmly.
"Wenger told me you were coming."
Francesco glanced around at the young players gathering nearby.
"They look nervous."
Mertesacker chuckled.
"That's because they recognize you."
Francesco shrugged.
"I'm just here to help."
Mertesacker turned toward the academy squad.
"Alright everyone."
"Gather here."
The young players quickly jogged toward them.
Within seconds about twenty academy players stood in a semi-circle.
Most of them looked somewhere between sixteen and nineteen years old.
And nearly every pair of eyes was locked onto Francesco.
Mertesacker spoke first.
"Gentlemen."
"You all know who this is."
A few players nodded eagerly.
One whispered something excitedly to his teammate.
Mertesacker continued.
"Francesco will spend some time with us today."
"He will train with you."
"And hopefully teach you something."
Francesco raised both hands.
"No pressure then."
A few of the academy players laughed nervously.
The session began simply.
Warm-up drills.
Passing triangles.
Basic ball control.
Francesco joined one of the passing groups.
At first the academy players were clearly a little intimidated.
Passes arrived too carefully.
Movement slightly stiff.
So Francesco decided to break the tension.
He miscontrolled the next pass intentionally and let the ball roll away.
"Terrible first touch," he said dramatically.
The nearest academy player blinked.
"You did that on purpose…"
Francesco grinned.
"Maybe."
The tension broke immediately.
Soon the players relaxed.
Passes sped up.
Voices became louder.
Confidence returned.
Mertesacker watched from the sideline with his arms folded.
Exactly what he wanted.
Later in the session Mertesacker set up a small attacking drill.
Four attackers versus three defenders.
Francesco joined the attacking side.
The ball moved quickly between the academy players.
One of them played a sharp pass toward Francesco near the edge of the box.
Two defenders closed him down immediately.
Francesco controlled the ball with one smooth touch.
Then, almost casually, he slipped the ball between both defenders and spun past them.
The movement happened so quickly that the defenders froze for a second.
Francesco cut the ball back across the box.
Goal.
The academy striker tapped it in.
Silence.
Then laughter.
One of the defenders shook his head.
"That was unfair."
Francesco smiled.
"Welcome to first-team pace."
Mertesacker laughed from the sideline.
"That's exactly why he's here."
During a short water break the academy players gathered around Francesco.
Questions began immediately.
"How do you stay calm in big matches?"
"What's it like playing at the Emirates?"
"How do you score so many goals?"
Francesco leaned back against the training fence and thought about the questions.
Then he answered honestly.
"You work."
"Every day."
"Even when nobody is watching."
The young players listened closely.
He continued.
"Talent gets you noticed."
"But discipline keeps you there."
Mertesacker nodded approvingly.
Francesco pointed toward the pitch.
"You see those finishing drills we do in first-team training?"
A few players nodded.
"We repeat them hundreds of times."
"Until the movement becomes automatic."
He paused before adding something else.
"And when you think you're good enough…"
He shrugged.
"Train even harder."
By the time the academy training session ended nearly two hours later, the young players looked exhausted.
But they also looked energized.
Inspired.
Francesco walked back toward the sideline where Mertesacker stood waiting.
"Not bad," the German said.
Francesco wiped sweat from his forehead.
"They've got talent."
Mertesacker nodded.
"Yes."
"That's why they are here."
He glanced toward the academy squad now stretching on the field.
"But seeing where they could reach…"
He gestured toward Francesco.
"…that helps them believe."
Francesco looked back at the players too.
Eighteen.
Sixteen.
Seventeen.
All chasing the same dream.
Just like he had not so long ago.
He smiled quietly.
"Hope they make it."
Mertesacker nodded.
"So do I."
For a moment after the academy training session ended, the field fell into that familiar quiet that always followed intense work.
The young players were scattered around the pitch stretching, talking, or slowly walking toward the benches near the sideline. Some still glanced occasionally toward Francesco, as if confirming he had really been there training with them.
The late morning sun had climbed higher now, burning away the last traces of the earlier mist that had hovered over the fields of London Colney Training Centre.
Francesco stood beside Per Mertesacker near the touchline.
Both of them watched the academy squad finishing their cooldown routines.
For a few seconds neither of them spoke.
Then Francesco tilted his head slightly.
His eyes followed a pair of players still working with a ball near the far side of the pitch.
One wore the number 10 training bib.
The other wore number 17.
They were still running drills even after the official session had ended.
Short passes.
Quick turns.
Acceleration bursts.
They moved with a rhythm that stood out from the others.
Francesco watched quietly for a moment.
Then he nudged Mertesacker lightly with his elbow.
"Those two," he said.
Mertesacker glanced toward the far side of the pitch.
Francesco continued.
"They're better than the rest."
Mertesacker didn't answer immediately.
Instead he watched the two academy players for a few seconds longer.
The number 10 received the ball with a smooth first touch, spinning away from an imaginary defender before playing a precise pass toward his teammate.
Number 17 accelerated onto it, carrying the ball forward before finishing into the empty net with controlled precision.
The movement looked natural.
Instinctive.
Confident.
Finally Mertesacker nodded slowly.
"Yes."
Francesco looked at him.
"Who are they?"
Mertesacker pointed first toward the player wearing the number 17 bib.
"That one," he said, "is Bukayo Saka."
Francesco studied the young player again.
Saka was still running toward the sideline to collect the ball he had just placed into the net.
There was something energetic about the way he moved.
Light on his feet.
Quick changes of direction.
Francesco raised an eyebrow.
"How old is he?"
Mertesacker smiled slightly.
"Fifteen."
Francesco blinked.
"Seriously?"
The academy manager nodded.
"He'll turn sixteen in September."
Francesco watched Saka again, now paying closer attention.
For a fifteen-year-old, his technical ability looked impressive.
Not just the speed or dribbling.
But the calm decision-making.
He wasn't rushing.
He was thinking.
That was rare.
Francesco crossed his arms thoughtfully.
"He plays older than that."
Mertesacker nodded again.
"Yes."
"He sees the game well."
Francesco then turned his attention toward the other player.
The number 10.
He was juggling the ball now, casually flicking it between both feet while waiting for Saka to return.
"And him?" Francesco asked.
Mertesacker smiled again.
"That is Emile Smith Rowe."
Francesco watched the young midfielder carefully.
Smith Rowe's movements were slightly different from Saka's.
Where Saka looked explosive and direct, Smith Rowe looked smoother.
More fluid.
His first touch guided the ball into space before he even looked up.
The kind of control that made everything appear effortless.
"How old?" Francesco asked.
"Seventeen," Mertesacker replied.
Francesco nodded slowly.
"Older."
"Yes."
Mertesacker rested his hands on his hips.
"He is very close to the first team level."
Francesco glanced toward him.
"You think he'll debut soon?"
Mertesacker didn't hesitate.
"Especially him."
He nodded toward Smith Rowe again.
"He could make his debut."
Francesco studied the young midfielder again.
Seventeen.
Still incredibly young.
But sometimes talent didn't care about age.
Francesco knew that better than anyone.
He himself had made headlines at eighteen across Europe.
Winning trophies.
Winning the Ballon d'Or.
Lifting the UEFA European Championship.
Age was only a number when ability matched ambition.
Saka returned from retrieving the ball and passed it back toward Smith Rowe.
The two began another quick passing drill.
Francesco smiled slightly.
"They look like they've been playing together forever."
Mertesacker nodded.
"They train together often."
"Good understanding."
Francesco watched them for another minute.
Saka tried a quick step-over before cutting inside.
Smith Rowe read the movement instantly and made a supporting run.
The pass came perfectly into space.
Smith Rowe finished calmly into the bottom corner.
Francesco chuckled quietly.
"Nice finish."
Mertesacker folded his arms.
"Yes."
"He is a natural attacking midfielder."
Francesco tilted his head slightly.
"Creative type."
"Exactly."
The academy manager glanced toward Francesco for a moment.
"Reminds me a little of someone else I know."
Francesco smirked.
"Özil?"
Mertesacker smiled.
"Yes."
The comparison made sense.
Smith Rowe's style had that same fluid intelligence.
Always moving into space.
Always looking for the next pass.
Meanwhile Saka grabbed the ball again and dribbled past two academy defenders who had returned to the pitch.
Quick feet.
Sharp turn.
Explosive acceleration.
Francesco whistled softly.
"That kid is fearless."
Mertesacker chuckled.
"He enjoys attacking."
Francesco studied him again.
"And he's only fifteen."
"Yes."
"He is one of our most promising prospects."
Francesco leaned slightly against the barrier fence again.
"You think he'll reach the first team?"
Mertesacker didn't answer right away.
He had been part of football long enough to know how unpredictable development could be.
Some academy stars faded.
Others exploded into greatness.
Finally he spoke.
"If he continues working hard…"
He shrugged.
"…anything is possible."
Francesco watched the two young players again.
They were laughing now after one of Saka's shots flew wide of the goal.
Smith Rowe grabbed another ball and tossed it toward him.
The moment looked simple.
Just two teenagers enjoying football.
But Francesco knew moments like that could grow into something bigger.
Great players often began exactly like this.
Training quietly.
Learning.
Developing.
Chasing the dream.
He pushed himself off the fence.
"I should say hello."
Mertesacker nodded.
"Go ahead."
Francesco walked across the pitch toward the two academy players.
They noticed him approaching almost immediately.
Both straightened slightly.
Saka looked a little stunned.
Smith Rowe looked excited.
Francesco stopped a few steps away.
"Good session," he said casually.
Smith Rowe nodded quickly.
"Thank you."
Saka looked like he was trying not to stare.
Francesco smiled.
"You two stayed after training."
Smith Rowe shrugged.
"Extra work."
Francesco nodded approvingly.
"That's how you improve."
He pointed toward the ball at Saka's feet.
"Show me something."
Saka blinked.
"Now?"
Francesco grinned.
"Yes."
Saka hesitated for half a second.
Then he began dribbling.
Step-over.
Cut inside.
Quick turn.
Acceleration.
Francesco watched carefully.
Not just the tricks.
But the control.
The balance.
The confidence.
When Saka finished with a quick shot into the corner of the net, Francesco clapped lightly.
"Not bad."
Saka's eyes lit up slightly.
Smith Rowe laughed beside him.
Francesco then turned toward the older midfielder.
"Your turn."
Smith Rowe nodded and took the ball.
His style was different.
Less flashy.
But incredibly smooth.
Two touches.
Quick body feint.
Sharp pass into the empty net.
Francesco smiled.
"You make it look easy."
Smith Rowe shrugged shyly.
"I try."
Francesco looked at both of them for a moment.
Then he said something simple.
"Keep working."
"Talent is only the beginning."
Both academy players nodded immediately.
Francesco pointed back toward the training buildings in the distance.
"One day you'll train there with us."
Saka looked almost stunned.
"Really?"
Francesco shrugged.
"If you keep improving."
Smith Rowe smiled.
"We will."
Francesco gave them both a final nod before turning and walking back toward Mertesacker.
Behind him the two academy players immediately began another drill.
Running faster.
Passing quicker.
Inspired.
Mertesacker watched them with quiet satisfaction.
"They will remember that conversation."
Francesco glanced back over his shoulder.
"I hope so."
The academy manager smiled.
"Moments like this stay with young players."
Francesco looked across the academy pitches again.
Future talents running.
Dreams forming.
Careers beginning.
Not so long ago he had been one of them.
Just another young player chasing the impossible dream of professional football.
Now he stood on the other side.
Helping guide the next generation.
And somewhere on those green training fields at Arsenal's academy, two future stars continued practicing long after everyone else had left.
______________________________________________
Name : 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: 7
Goal: 8
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 0
Goal: 0
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