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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
And inside the mansion, with football chaos screaming through television broadcasts and a corgi committing athletic crimes across the living room.
The following morning arrived with a very different feeling around London Colney.
The emotional storm surrounding the Manchester United victory had finally begun settling.
Not disappearing.
Just settling.
The newspapers were still obsessed with Wenger and Mourinho.
Sports channels were still replaying the press conference every thirty minutes like it was a major historical event.
Walker was still sending completely unhinged messages into the squad group chat.
But inside the training ground, football had already moved on.
Because football always moved on.
One result became yesterday remarkably quickly.
The next challenge was always waiting.
Cold air drifted across the training pitches when players began arriving shortly after sunrise. Thin frost coated sections of grass beyond the main training area while groundskeepers worked quietly in the distance preparing surfaces for another busy morning.
The sky above Hertfordshire remained pale gray.
Winter settling deeper now.
Francesco stepped out of his BMW carrying a coffee and training bag while exhaling into the cold air.
His legs still felt heavy.
The bruise from Lindelöf's tackle had matured beautifully overnight into several artistic shades of purple.
Not ideal.
But manageable.
As he walked toward the main building, he immediately spotted Walker already standing outside talking animatedly to Robertson.
Or more accurately
Talking animatedly while Robertson desperately tried surviving the experience.
"I'm telling you," Walker declared dramatically, "the press conference was the greatest tactical performance of Wenger's career."
Robertson sighed.
"He won six league titles."
"Exactly. But did any of those titles make Mourinho angry in 4K resolution?"
Francesco shook his head.
"Morning."
Walker pointed immediately.
"There he is."
"The victim."
"I hate that you've started calling me that."
"You started a football civil war."
"I got tackled."
"History will remember differently."
Inside the building, players gradually filtered through breakfast areas, recovery stations, and treatment rooms while staff prepared schedules for the morning session.
The atmosphere felt lighter today.
Big victories always helped.
People smiled more.
Joked more.
Recovery sessions became easier.
Even the coffee somehow tasted better.
Sánchez arrived shortly afterward carrying enough intensity for an entire squad.
The Chilean looked like somebody who had spent the night studying football footage instead of sleeping.
Which honestly wasn't impossible.
"You see Mourinho interview?" he asked immediately.
Francesco groaned.
"Can we have one day without discussing it?"
"No."
Fair answer.
Nearby, Ozil quietly collected fruit from the breakfast area while pretending not to listen.
Cazorla was already laughing at something before anyone knew the joke.
Kanté greeted everyone with the same calm warmth he somehow maintained regardless of weather, results, or existence itself.
Normal morning.
Normal football life.
Mostly.
Eventually players began moving toward the changing rooms to prepare for training.
Boots.
Training kits.
Tape.
Music.
Routine.
The familiar rhythm of professional football.
Francesco finished tying his boots when the dressing room door opened again.
And Wenger walked in.
Immediately followed by two younger players.
The room became noticeably quieter.
Not because anything was wrong.
Because everyone immediately recognized what was happening.
Youth promotion day.
One of football's best traditions.
The two teenagers standing behind Wenger looked excited.
Nervous.
Trying very hard not to appear nervous.
Which only made them look more nervous.
One had a bright, open face and alert eyes that seemed to absorb everything around him instantly.
The other looked slightly quieter, studying the room carefully while trying not to stare at any particular player for too long.
Wenger stopped near the center of the dressing room.
His expression softened slightly.
Something that always happened when youth players were involved.
The manager genuinely loved moments like this.
"Gentlemen," he began calmly.
The room settled completely.
"I would like you to meet two academy players who will train permanently with the first team beginning today."
Both teenagers straightened automatically.
Wenger gestured toward the first.
"Bukayo Saka."
Then toward the second.
"Emile Smith Rowe."
The room immediately applauded.
Not forced applause.
Real applause.
Because every senior player in football remembered exactly what this moment felt like.
The first day.
The first senior session.
The moment dreams stopped feeling theoretical.
Saka looked like he was trying very hard not to smile too widely.
Smith Rowe looked one heartbeat away from complete disbelief.
Wenger continued.
"They have earned this opportunity."
Then his eyes moved around the room.
"And I expect them to receive the same support that all young players deserve."
Several veterans nodded immediately.
No disagreement there.
At Arsenal especially, academy players mattered.
They always had.
The manager's gaze eventually settled on Francesco.
"Captain."
Francesco already understood.
Of course.
Help them settle.
Help them belong.
The same thing older players had done for him years earlier.
Wenger gave a small nod.
Then headed toward the tactical staff waiting outside.
Leaving the room to the players.
And instantly Walker stood up.
"Oh no."
The room erupted into laughter.
Saka blinked.
Smith Rowe looked confused.
Walker pointed dramatically at himself.
"I am Kyle Walker."
Pause.
"I am unfortunately one of your mentors."
The teenagers looked uncertain whether he was joking.
Robertson answered for them.
"He absolutely should not be."
More laughter.
The tension broke immediately.
Exactly what everyone wanted.
Francesco stood and walked over toward the two academy players.
The difference between youth football and senior football could feel enormous.
The speed.
The physicality.
The personalities.
The pressure.
Some players needed weeks before relaxing.
Others never fully did.
Which was why first impressions mattered.
Francesco offered his hand first.
"Congratulations."
Saka shook it immediately.
"Thank you."
The excitement in his voice was impossible to hide.
Smith Rowe followed.
Still looking slightly overwhelmed.
"You've earned it," Francesco said.
"Don't let anybody tell you otherwise."
Both nodded.
Listening carefully.
The way young players always listened around senior professionals.
Not because they had to.
Because every moment felt important.
Walker suddenly appeared beside them again.
"Right."
He placed both hands on Saka's shoulders dramatically.
"Most important lesson."
"Oh no," Robertson muttered.
Walker ignored him.
"If Sánchez starts shouting, do not panic."
"I don't shout," Sánchez said from across the room.
Everyone stared at him.
The Chilean stared back.
Then finally:
"…often."
The dressing room exploded.
Even Saka laughed.
The nervousness fading further.
Good.
That was the goal.
By the time everyone finally walked out toward the training pitch, both academy players looked considerably more comfortable than they had twenty minutes earlier.
Not completely relaxed.
Nobody was completely relaxed on their first senior session.
But better.
Much better.
Outside, cold wind rolled across London Colney while coaches organized cones and equipment across multiple sections of the pitch.
The frost had mostly disappeared now beneath weak winter sunlight.
Players gathered near midfield while Wenger and his staff discussed the day's structure.
Francesco noticed Saka and Smith Rowe lingering slightly toward the edge of the group.
Not intentionally.
Just naturally.
Young players often felt like visitors initially.
Like they were temporarily borrowing space.
Francesco walked over.
"You two play football, right?"
Saka blinked.
"Yeah."
"Good."
Francesco pointed toward the main group.
"Then stand with footballers."
A small smile appeared immediately.
Simple message.
You belong here.
Both moved closer.
Closer to the veterans.
Closer to the squad.
Closer to becoming part of it.
The warm-up began shortly afterward.
Passing circuits.
Movement drills.
Possession exercises.
Standard work.
At first both youngsters played cautiously.
Safe passes.
Minimal risks.
Trying not to make mistakes.
Again:
Normal.
Every academy player did it.
The fear of looking foolish could be overwhelming.
Especially surrounded by international stars.
Wenger noticed too.
Of course he did.
The man had spent decades developing young footballers.
He could identify uncertainty immediately.
During one possession exercise, Saka received the ball near the touchline with space ahead.
Instead of attacking, he played backward safely.
Training continued.
No criticism.
But Wenger noticed.
Later Smith Rowe found space centrally and chose the conservative option instead of turning.
Again.
Wenger noticed.
Eventually the manager stopped the exercise.
Not angrily.
Just calmly.
"Bukayo."
Saka looked up immediately.
"Yes, boss?"
"You beat defenders."
A pause.
"So beat defenders."
The teenager blinked.
Wenger pointed toward the open space ahead.
"If you play safe football, I learn nothing."
That hit the group immediately.
Because Wenger wasn't asking for perfection.
He was asking for courage.
Then toward Smith Rowe.
"And you."
The young midfielder straightened.
"You create."
Another pause.
"So create."
Simple.
Elegant.
Very Wenger.
Training restarted.
And slowly things changed.
Not instantly.
Confidence rarely worked like that.
But gradually.
Saka started running directly at defenders.
Using his pace.
Using his balance.
Using instinct.
At one point he attacked Walker one-versus-one and actually beat him cleanly.
The entire group reacted immediately.
"OHHHHHH!"
Walker spun around dramatically.
"Absolutely not."
Saka looked horrified.
The squad burst into laughter.
Walker pointed toward Wenger.
"I would like to file an official complaint."
"You got beaten," Robertson informed him.
"By a child."
"It happened once."
"On his first day."
The laughter became louder.
Even Saka was grinning now.
More importantly?
He looked relaxed.
Really relaxed.
Smith Rowe began finding rhythm too.
His movement between lines became sharper.
His passing more ambitious.
His confidence growing visibly with every successful action.
At one stage he slipped a beautiful through ball between defenders that sent Francesco clear toward goal.
Perfect weight.
Perfect timing.
The finish flew into the net.
The coaching staff immediately exchanged impressed looks.
Wenger noticed that too.
Of course he did.
The manager missed very little.
During a short water break afterward, Francesco deliberately sat beside both youngsters.
"You see?" he asked.
Saka nodded.
A little smile still lingering.
"It feels different now."
"Good different?"
"Yeah."
Smith Rowe laughed quietly.
"I thought I was going to mess everything up."
"You still might."
Both stared.
Francesco grinned.
"So might everyone else."
That earned genuine laughter.
Then he pointed toward the senior squad spread across the pitch.
"Look around."
The youngsters did.
Van Dijk.
Ozil.
Sánchez.
Cazorla.
Kanté.
International players everywhere.
Elite professionals.
Francesco shrugged.
"Every single one of them has had terrible training sessions."
Even Sánchez nodded reluctantly.
"Many."
"See?"
The youngsters laughed again.
The lesson mattered.
Perfection wasn't the requirement.
Commitment was.
Courage was.
Trusting your football was.
Training continued for nearly another hour.
And by the end, something had clearly changed.
The nervous academy players who had entered the dressing room earlier were gone.
Not completely.
Some nerves remained naturally.
But now there was confidence underneath them.
Belonging.
Momentum.
As the session wound down, Wenger gathered everyone near midfield once more.
Cold air drifted across the training ground.
Players breathing heavily.
Sweat visible despite winter temperatures.
The manager looked toward Saka and Smith Rowe briefly.
Then toward the rest of the squad.
"I am pleased."
Simple words.
Important words.
The youngsters immediately straightened.
Wenger rarely handed out praise casually.
"You trained with courage."
Both nodded.
Trying not to smile too much.
Failing slightly.
Then Wenger addressed the entire group.
"They are here because they deserve to be here."
His eyes moved around the squad.
"Help them improve."
Nobody needed convincing.
Not this group.
Not anymore.
As players began heading back toward the main building afterward, Walker immediately threw an arm around Saka's shoulders.
"Congratulations."
The teenager looked confused.
"For what?"
"Successfully humiliating me in front of witnesses."
Robertson appeared beside them.
"We've all wanted to do it."
Walker looked genuinely offended.
The laughter followed them all the way back toward the dressing room.
And walking near the front of the group, Francesco glanced back briefly at Saka and Smith Rowe.
The two academy players were laughing now.
Talking.
Relaxed.
Part of the squad.
The laughter followed them all the way back toward the main building.
Not loud laughter.
Not the kind that shook walls.
Just the easy, comfortable kind that existed inside successful dressing rooms.
The kind that came when people enjoyed showing up to work.
Cold air drifted around them as boots crunched softly against the paths leading away from the training pitches. Coaches gathered equipment behind them while groundskeepers continued their work around London Colney.
The session was over.
Another morning complete.
Another step forward.
And for two academy boys who had arrived looking like they were trying not to breathe too loudly, it had probably been one of the biggest days of their young lives.
Saka and Smith Rowe walked together near the middle of the group.
Still talking.
Still smiling.
Still occasionally glancing around like they couldn't quite believe this was real.
Francesco noticed it.
Because he remembered doing exactly the same thing.
Years ago.
Back when he had first crossed this line himself.
Back when every senior player had seemed larger than life.
Back when simply sharing a dressing room with first-team footballers had felt impossible.
Funny how quickly impossible things became normal.
Inside the building, warmth immediately replaced the winter cold.
Players peeled away toward different areas.
Recovery rooms.
Medical stations.
The gym.
The changing rooms.
The familiar post-training routine that happened almost automatically after years of repetition.
By the time Francesco pushed open the dressing room door, music was already playing from somewhere.
Nobody knew who controlled the playlist anymore.
Nobody really wanted to know.
Some mysteries were better left unsolved.
Walker immediately dropped onto the bench nearest his locker and groaned dramatically.
"Oh."
"No."
"My career is over."
Robertson didn't even look up while removing his boots.
"You got dribbled past once."
"By a child."
"A very talented child."
"My reputation is ruined."
Saka walked past trying not to laugh.
Walker pointed at him.
"Don't enjoy this."
The teenager failed instantly.
The entire room erupted again.
Even Wenger's coaching staff, passing through briefly, were smiling.
It was impossible not to.
The atmosphere had become too relaxed.
Too positive.
Exactly the environment young players needed.
Francesco sat down and slowly untied his boots.
The bruise on his leg immediately reminded him of its existence.
Lindelöf's tackle had left a masterpiece.
Purple.
Blue.
Yellow around the edges.
The sort of injury that looked significantly worse than it actually felt.
Mostly.
He winced slightly.
Kanté noticed from two lockers away.
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
Francesco pulled up the training pants slightly.
Kanté examined the bruise.
His eyes widened.
"Oh."
"Exactly."
"That looks painful."
"It has personality."
Cazorla nearly fell off his bench laughing.
"Personality?"
"What else am I supposed to call it?"
"An injury."
"I prefer personality."
The Spaniard shook his head.
"You are spending too much time with Walker."
"That's probably true."
"Definitely true," Robertson corrected.
Across the room, Saka and Smith Rowe were beginning to settle naturally into the flow of things.
Earlier they had been standing carefully.
Moving carefully.
Speaking carefully.
Now they were participating.
Joining conversations.
Laughing at jokes.
Relaxing.
Football dressing rooms were strange places.
Acceptance rarely came through speeches.
It came through ordinary moments.
Being included.
Being teased.
Being spoken to normally.
Being treated like part of the group.
That mattered more than most people realized.
One by one players grabbed towels and headed toward the showers.
The usual procession.
Noise echoed off tiled walls almost immediately.
Conversations continued from one room into another.
Footballers somehow possessed the remarkable ability to discuss absolutely everything while showering.
Match analysis.
Television.
Food.
Cars.
Video games.
Conspiracy theories invented entirely by Walker.
Especially conspiracy theories invented entirely by Walker.
Today was no different.
Steam filled the shower area while players gradually washed away the morning's work.
Training sweat disappeared.
Muscles loosened.
The intensity of the session slowly faded.
Francesco stood beneath hot water and allowed his shoulders to relax.
The contrast felt incredible after the cold outside.
His body still carried traces of fatigue from the Manchester United match.
Not exhaustion.
Just accumulation.
The reality of a long season.
Games.
Training.
Travel.
Recovery.
Repeat.
The rhythm never truly stopped.
Around him, conversations bounced from wall to wall.
Sánchez was discussing pressing triggers.
Of course he was.
Nobody knew how the man could remain that intense twenty-four hours a day.
Ozil had somehow become involved in a debate about coffee quality.
Cazorla was laughing again.
Nobody knew why.
Nobody needed to know.
Some things were simply constants.
Eventually the showers emptied.
Players returned to their lockers.
Fresh clothes replaced training kits.
Hoodies.
Jackets.
Winter coats.
Normal life returning.
The sharp smell of shampoo replaced the smell of training grass.
Phones reappeared.
Messages were checked.
Schedules reviewed.
The professional football bubble gradually relaxed into something more ordinary.
Francesco finished dressing and glanced across the room.
Saka and Smith Rowe were still there.
Still talking quietly.
Still probably processing everything that had happened.
For a moment he simply watched them.
Not in a strange way.
Just thoughtfully.
Because he saw himself.
Not exactly.
Their journeys were different.
Different backgrounds.
Different personalities.
Different stories.
But there were similarities too.
Hale End.
Dreams.
Nerves.
The overwhelming feeling of entering a world that seemed impossibly large.
He remembered every bit of it.
The first senior session.
The first conversation with established professionals.
The fear of making mistakes.
The fear of not belonging.
Most of all, the fear of wasting an opportunity.
Those memories never completely disappeared.
Francesco stood and walked over.
The two teenagers immediately looked up.
Some instincts remained.
Senior player approaching.
Attention automatically activated.
Francesco leaned against a nearby locker.
"You two surviving?"
Saka smiled.
"Barely."
Smith Rowe laughed.
"I still feel nervous."
"Good."
They both blinked.
"Good?" Saka repeated.
"Means you care."
The answer surprised them.
Francesco nodded.
"The day you stop caring completely is usually when problems start."
The teenagers listened carefully.
Not because they were being told to.
Because they wanted to.
Every academy player wanted information.
Experience.
Anything that could help.
For a few seconds nobody spoke.
Then Smith Rowe asked quietly:
"Were you nervous?"
Francesco actually laughed.
"Nervous?"
He pointed at himself.
"I thought I was going to throw up."
The answer caught them off guard.
Both immediately laughed.
"I'm serious."
"You?" Saka asked.
"Yeah."
Francesco shook his head.
"My first sessions here, I spent half the time convinced somebody would realize I didn't belong."
The teenagers exchanged surprised looks.
"Really?"
"Really."
He smiled slightly.
"Every young player thinks they're the only one feeling that way."
The dressing room around them had grown quieter as more players left for home.
A few veterans remained.
Walker.
Robertson.
Kanté.
Giroud.
Several staff members moving through the room.
The atmosphere felt calmer now.
More personal.
Francesco folded his arms.
"You know what helped me?"
"What?" Smith Rowe asked.
"Understanding that everybody starts somewhere."
He gestured around the room.
"Look at this squad."
International stars.
Premier League winners.
Champions League winners.
World-class players.
"Every single person in here had a first day."
The youngsters nodded.
"Every one of them made mistakes."
Another nod.
"Every one of them got nervous."
A third nod.
"Some of them still get nervous."
Walker immediately pointed at himself.
"Big games."
"Every time."
The confession surprised Saka.
Walker shrugged.
"What?"
"You think confidence means you never feel pressure?"
The full-back shook his head.
"Pressure means you care."
Francesco smiled.
Exactly.
That was the lesson.
Not eliminating nerves.
Managing them.
Using them.
Growing through them.
He looked back toward the youngsters.
"You know what's different now?"
"What?"
"You belong here."
Simple words.
Important words.
The room seemed to become quieter.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Saka looked down briefly.
Smith Rowe swallowed.
Francesco continued.
"You aren't visiting."
"You aren't guests."
"You aren't academy kids training with the seniors for one day."
He pointed toward the Arsenal crest stitched onto their training jackets.
"You're first-team players now."
The words landed.
Really landed.
Because hearing it from Wenger mattered.
Hearing it from coaches mattered.
But hearing it from the captain carried weight too.
The reality of it settled slowly across both young faces.
Not arrogance.
Not entitlement.
Just understanding.
A dream becoming real.
Saka looked thoughtful.
"I've imagined this for years."
Francesco smiled.
"Good."
The teenager frowned slightly.
"Good?"
"Now imagine the next thing."
That earned confusion.
Francesco laughed.
"Football doesn't stop."
"You reach one dream."
"Then you chase another."
He pointed at himself.
"When I first came here, I wanted one senior appearance."
The youngsters listened carefully.
"Then I wanted to start."
"Then I wanted to score."
"Then I wanted to win."
"Then I wanted to become captain."
He shrugged.
"The target keeps moving."
Smith Rowe nodded slowly.
Understanding.
Learning.
Growing.
Exactly what today had been about.
Nearby, Giroud stood and pulled on his coat.
Before leaving, the Frenchman paused beside the youngsters.
"Listen to him."
Both teenagers looked up.
Giroud pointed toward Francesco.
"He pretends to know everything."
Francesco rolled his eyes.
"But occasionally he says something useful."
The room laughed.
Then Giroud smiled warmly.
"You both did well today."
Simple praise.
Genuine praise.
The kind players remembered.
After he left, the conversation continued.
Not as captain to academy players.
Not as senior professional to youngsters.
Just footballers talking football.
Stories followed.
Memories.
Mistakes.
Funny moments from youth football.
Training disasters.
Early experiences.
Francesco told them about some of his first sessions at Hale End.
The awkwardness.
The excitement.
The days when football seemed simultaneously impossible and magical.
The youngsters responded with stories of their own.
And little by little, the age gap seemed to disappear.
Not entirely.
But enough.
Enough to build trust.
Enough to build relationships.
Enough to build a future.
Outside the winter afternoon had begun settling across Hertfordshire.
The light beyond the dressing-room windows was softer now.
Paler.
The kind of light that arrived long before sunset during winter.
Eventually phones appeared again.
Schedules resumed.
Reality returned.
People had families.
Appointments.
Recovery plans.
Lives outside football.
Francesco glanced at the time.
Leah would be finishing training soon.
The thought immediately brought a small smile.
Their schedules didn't always align perfectly.
Professional football rarely allowed that luxury.
But today they would.
A drive home together.
A quiet afternoon.
Probably Cheddar demanding attention within approximately thirty seconds of their arrival.
Definitely within thirty seconds.
Possibly less.
Francesco stood.
"Right."
The youngsters looked up.
"I'm heading out."
Both immediately rose as well.
Old habits.
Respect.
Francesco laughed.
"You don't need to stand every time somebody talks."
Saka looked embarrassed.
Smith Rowe looked even more embarrassed.
That only made it funnier.
Before leaving, Francesco offered each of them a handshake.
Then changed his mind.
Instead, he pulled them briefly into quick hugs.
Not dramatic.
Not emotional.
Just genuine.
Welcome to the group.
Welcome to the family.
The message didn't need words.
Still, he gave them some anyway.
"You've earned your place."
Both nodded.
"Keep working."
Another nod.
"Keep being brave."
A third.
"And if you need anything…"
He pointed around the room.
"Ask."
The youngsters smiled.
"Thank you," Smith Rowe said quietly.
"Seriously."
Saka nodded immediately.
"Yeah. Thanks."
Francesco smiled.
"No problem."
Because somebody had once done exactly the same thing for him.
That was how football worked.
One generation helping the next.
One player opening a door and holding it long enough for somebody else to walk through.
The cycle never ended.
And Arsenal had always been particularly good at it.
A few minutes later Francesco finally left the dressing room.
The corridors of London Colney were noticeably quieter now.
Staff members moved between offices.
Coaches discussed upcoming sessions.
The day's work gradually winding down.
Outside, the cold greeted him again.
Fresh.
Sharp.
Winter air filling his lungs.
His BMW waited in the parking area exactly where he'd left it that morning.
But he wasn't heading home yet.
Not quite.
Instead he leaned casually against the vehicle and waited.
And after a little while…
He saw her.
Leah emerged from the building carrying her own training bag, bundled against the cold, her breath visible in the winter air.
Immediately spotting him.
Immediately smiling.
The kind of smile that always made everything feel a little lighter.
A little easier.
Francesco pushed away from the car.
"Finished?"
"Finally."
She groaned dramatically.
"My legs hate me."
"That's usually a sign training worked."
"I preferred your answer when it was sympathy."
"I don't remember ever giving sympathy."
"That's because you're difficult."
"Fair."
Leah laughed and stepped closer.
The familiar comfort between them required no effort anymore.
No performance.
No pretending.
Just ease.
Just home.
Francesco took her training bag before she could protest.
She rolled her eyes.
He ignored it.
Some habits had become permanent.
Together they climbed into the BMW.
The engine started.
Warm air slowly filled the cabin.
Outside, London Colney disappeared behind them as they pulled away from the training ground.
Another day complete.
Another training session finished.
Back at Arsenal, two young Hale End boys were probably still smiling about their first real day as senior players.
______________________________________________
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: 23
Goal: 30
Assist: 1
MOTM: 4
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