The King Power Stadium was alive under the floodlights, the Leicester fans in full voice as the teams walked out. Blue flags rippled across the stands, a reminder that despite City's dominance, Leicester remained a side that could bite if underestimated. Pellegrini had made several rotations, resting some of his stars, and the lineup carried a different flavor—fresh legs, a mix of youth and depth. Joe Hart returned in goal, while Trent Alexander-Arnold and Theo Hernández filled the fullback roles, Kompany partnered with Van Dijk at the heart of defense. In midfield, Casemiro anchored, Alexis Mac Allister looked to dictate, and Adriano pushed further forward as the creative spear. The front line had youthful energy: Son on the left, Rashford on the right, Kane through the middle.
As the whistle blew, the opening exchanges were quick and nervy. Leicester pressed high, feeding off the energy of their crowd. Jamie Vardy immediately tested City's back line, darting into channels, but Van Dijk was alert, muscling him off the ball and calmly playing it back to Hart.
"City have rotated, Alan," Martin Tyler's voice carried over the noise of the ground. "But there's still so much power in this side. You look at Kane, Adriano, even Rashford starting—there's goals everywhere."
Alan Smith replied, "Absolutely, Martin. And don't forget Casemiro at the base. He'll protect that back four. Leicester will try to spring Vardy, but with Kompany and Van Dijk, that's no easy task."
By the tenth minute, City began to settle. Casemiro's presence was crucial—intercepting a loose pass and immediately spreading it wide to Son. The Korean winger cut inside, skipped past Simpson, and clipped a cross toward Kane. Kane rose but couldn't direct it, the ball glancing wide. Kane clapped his hands, urging more deliveries.
Moments later, Rashford burst into life down the right. Trent played a sharp one-two with him, and Rashford burned past Fuchs, whipping in a dangerous low cross. Adriano, arriving late at the near post, tried a flicked finish but Kasper Schmeichel got down quickly to save.
The Leicester fans roared in response, sensing vulnerability, but City's midfield kept the ball moving with composure. Mac Allister showed flashes of calm beyond his years, constantly available, turning out of pressure and releasing teammates. One exchange with Adriano in the seventeenth minute brought applause from the traveling City fans—quick touches between them split open two Leicester midfielders, leading to Son firing a shot just over from twenty yards.
Then came the breakthrough. Just past the twentieth minute, Adriano pressed high, nicking the ball off Drinkwater in midfield. He carried it forward, waited until Huth committed, and slipped Kane through the middle. Kane steadied himself, opened up his body, and slotted low past Schmeichel into the bottom right corner.
The City end erupted. Kane wheeled away, pumping both fists, before pointing straight at Adriano in thanks. Adriano jogged over and gave him a chest bump, grinning. The scoreboard flashed: Leicester 0–1 Manchester City. Kane (21').
"Clinical from Kane!" Tyler shouted. "And it's Adriano again, winning possession, turning defense into attack. That's what makes him so special."
Leicester tried to respond quickly. Mahrez began to see more of the ball on the right, twisting and turning against Theo Hernández. In the twenty-seventh minute, he got free and curled a dangerous effort just wide of Hart's post. Kompany barked instructions, clapping his hands furiously to refocus his teammates.
City weathered that spell, with Casemiro dropping deeper to shield the defense. On thirty-one minutes, Rashford almost doubled the lead after a slick move. Mac Allister fed Adriano, who slid a diagonal ball into the box. Rashford darted between Huth and Fuchs, but Schmeichel spread himself brilliantly to save with his legs. Rashford slapped the turf in frustration, while Adriano jogged over, patting him on the back. "Next one, you bury it," he said with a nod.
Five minutes before half-time, City did find their second. It began with Theo bursting down the left, exchanging passes with Son before drilling a low ball across the face of goal. Kane let it run cleverly, dragging the defender with him, and Adriano arrived late, smashing it first-time into the roof of the net.
"Adriano makes it two!" Martin Tyler's voice rose above the din. "City's number ten, once again on the scoresheet. He timed that run to perfection."
Adriano ran straight toward the away fans, arms stretched wide, before pointing to the badge on his chest. Rashford was the first to catch him, leaping onto his back, while Kane jogged over laughing. "I knew you'd take it!" Kane said, grinning.
The half closed with City in control. Leicester had their moments—Vardy racing clear once, only to be flagged offside by a tight margin—but the momentum was firmly blue.
The second half began with Leicester throwing everything forward. Vardy nearly snatched one in the forty-seventh minute, latching onto a long ball and firing early, but Hart made himself big, parrying it wide. Hart jumped up, fist pumping, yelling at his defenders to tighten up.
City's response was measured. Casemiro took the sting out of the game with calm touches, while Mac Allister continued to impress. His awareness was sharp, and in the fifty-fourth minute he produced his moment. Picking up the ball twenty-five yards out, he feinted past Drinkwater, shifted it onto his left, and unleashed a curling strike into the top corner.
The away section exploded. Even the City bench stood applauding. Mac Allister ran toward the sideline, sliding on his knees, his arms spread wide in sheer joy. Kompany sprinted from the back to wrap him in a hug, shouting in his ear, "That's how you announce yourself!"
"Stunning strike from Alexis Mac Allister!" Alan Smith exclaimed. "What a way to score your first for Manchester City. That will be replayed again and again."
Leicester's resistance faded after that. City controlled possession, moving the ball with patience. Rashford had another shot blocked, Son curled narrowly wide, and Kane almost added a second after Adriano threaded a perfect pass through, but Schmeichel again denied him.
As the minutes ticked away, City fans sang loudly, their voices drowning out the home crowd. Pellegrini stood calmly on the touchline, arms folded, satisfied with the professionalism of the performance. By the seventy-fifth minute, the game was essentially sealed. City slowed the tempo, Casemiro continuing to sweep up any danger.
In stoppage time, Leicester tried a late consolation. Mahrez whipped in a dangerous free-kick, Huth rose highest, but Hart claimed it cleanly and fell to the ground, clutching the ball as the referee's whistle finally rang.
Full-time: Leicester City 0–3 Manchester City. Goals from Kane, Adriano, and Mac Allister delivered another commanding win.
The players gathered near the away section, applauding the traveling fans. Rashford exchanged shirts with Vardy, Son shared a laugh with Mahrez, while Adriano stood with Mac Allister, ruffling his hair. "That goal," Adriano said, grinning, "unreal. Remember this night."
Mac Allister beamed, still wide-eyed. "Best feeling of my life."
As the team walked toward the tunnel, Kompany gathered them briefly. "That's what makes us strong. Doesn't matter who plays—we deliver. Remember that."
The squad nodded together, a quiet show of unity, before disappearing into the corridor of the King Power, three more points safely in their pockets.
*****
The floodlights glared down at Vicarage Road, the December air sharp and misty. Watford's fans packed in tightly, yellow and black scarves waving as the players emerged. Manchester City came with changes—Adriano, ever-present so far, was finally given a rest. Pellegrini had shuffled his midfield, dropping in the experienced Yaya Touré and giving Paulo Dybala the attacking role behind Harry Kane. Son and Mbappé offered pace on the wings, while the back four remained solid with Kompany and Van Dijk at its core.
The opening minutes were scrappy. Watford pressed hard, their midfield snapping at heels, refusing to give City's ball players space. In the sixth minute, Ighalo held the ball up and tried to slip Deeney through, but Van Dijk stepped in firmly, muscling him aside before calmly turning out and feeding Theo Hernández down the flank. Kompany applauded the intervention, shouting encouragement.
"City have gone for rotation tonight," Martin Tyler observed. "Adriano is missing for the first time in weeks, but look at what they can bring in—Touré, Mac Allister, Dybala. That's depth."
Alan Smith added, "It'll be interesting to see how Dybala adapts to that central role. He's more used to leading the line, but behind Kane, he can drift, link play, and use that left foot. Watford will have to watch him carefully."
By the tenth minute, City had begun to settle. Touré dictated with his strength, shielding the ball and switching play. Mbappé started lively, stretching Watford's left-back with darting runs. In the thirteenth minute, Kane nearly opened the scoring. Trent delivered a pinpoint cross from the right, Kane rose above his marker, but the header skimmed over the bar. He grimaced, hands on his head, while Son patted him on the shoulder: "Close one, mate."
The first goal arrived in the twenty-first minute, and it was pure centre-forward's instinct. Son cut inside from the left, curling a ball toward the near post. Kane darted across his man, a quick flick of the right boot, and the ball flew past Gomes into the net. Kane turned sharply, sprinting toward the away fans, pumping both fists as teammates piled on.
"Harry Kane again!" Tyler called. "That near-post movement, impossible to defend. And City's number nine puts them ahead."
The City fans in the corner were in full voice, chanting Kane's name as the players jogged back. Kompany gathered them briefly, reminding them to stay tight. "No switch-offs. We control this," he barked.
Watford tried to answer back. In the twenty-ninth minute, Capoue drove forward and unleashed a long-range shot that Hart had to tip over. From the corner, the ball dropped awkwardly, but Van Dijk rose highest, clearing with authority before shouting at his teammates to push up.
City responded with another spell of pressure. Dybala began to influence the game, dropping into pockets between the lines. In the thirty-fifth minute, he collected a pass from Mac Allister, feinted past a defender, and curled a shot that forced Gomes into a diving save. Dybala slapped his hands together, frustrated but encouraged.
The half ended with City firmly in control, Kane holding the ball up well, Son and Mbappé buzzing on the flanks, while Touré shielded the defense expertly. The travelling fans sang loudly as the whistle blew, City a goal to the good.
The second half opened with Watford pressing again, but their lack of precision showed. In the forty-eighth minute, Deeney tried to slip a ball past Kompany, only for the captain to step across, shoulder-to-shoulder, winning cleanly before striding forward and starting another attack. Pellegrini applauded from the touchline, urging composure.
City's second came just before the hour mark, and it was Dybala who delivered. Mbappé carried the ball at pace down the right, pulling defenders with him before cutting back to the edge of the box. Dybala arrived in stride, shifting onto his left foot and curling a perfect shot into the bottom corner.
"Dybala!" Alan Smith shouted. "That's what he brings, Martin. Calm, clinical, left-footed precision."
The Argentine forward ran toward the bench, arms spread, before pointing skyward. Kane was first to embrace him, ruffling his hair. "That's class, mate," Kane said with a grin.
Watford pushed, desperate to get back into the game. In the sixty-seventh minute, Ighalo broke through, firing low at Hart, but the goalkeeper saved with his legs before Kompany cleared the rebound. Hart turned to his defenders, yelling, "Stay switched on! Concentrate!"
City managed the rest of the match with professionalism. Touré slowed the tempo, recycling possession, while Mac Allister showed maturity, keeping things simple under pressure. In the seventy-eighth minute, Son almost added a third, cutting inside and curling narrowly wide. Mbappé too had a chance late on, breaking clear on the counter, but Gomes rushed out bravely to smother.
As the final whistle went, City's players embraced, another three points secured. The away fans stayed loud, singing into the night. Pellegrini shook hands calmly, satisfied. Kane and Dybala walked off together, laughing and replaying their goals in conversation. Kompany clapped the traveling support, Van Dijk alongside him, while Hart made sure to acknowledge every fan behind the goal he defended.
Full-time: Watford 0–2 Manchester City. Goals from Kane and Dybala seal the win.
The victory marked the end of Manchester City's 2015 fixtures, closing out the year on a commanding run.
The players knew January would bring both the transfer window and the international break, but for now, the mood was buoyant.
Another clean sheet, another win, and the sense of a machine rolling on without pause.
*****
The first rays of pale winter sunlight bled weakly through the tall windows of the Manchester mansion. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that only came after a long stretch of busy days. For once, there were no photographers outside the gates, no calls from Mendes about sponsorships or transfer whispers, no urgent emails demanding answers. Just silence, save for the occasional hum of the heating system.
Adriano leaned against the bedroom doorframe, arms folded, studying the figure curled under the duvet. Kate was still asleep, her hair spread across the pillow in loose strands, her breathing slow and steady. He almost felt guilty for what he was about to do. Almost.
"Kate," he said softly, at first just testing the waters. No movement.
He stepped closer, crouched near the bed, and whispered dramatically, "Rise and shine, Princess of Hollywood. Today's the day."
A muffled groan came from under the duvet. "Too early. Not today."
Adriano grinned. "You said that yesterday too."
"Yesterday we didn't have anything. Today we don't either. So let me sleep." Her voice was half-asleep, half-pleading.
"You're forgetting something." Adriano gently tugged at the duvet, revealing Kate's squinting face. "Our new toy's waiting in London. Mendes called last night. Crew's ready. Plane's ready. We just have to show up."
Kate blinked, still foggy, then frowned. "Plane?"
"The Gulfstream." He stood, stretching. "Our Gulfstream. The one we ordered months ago. It's ready for pickup."
That got her attention. She sat up, hair tousled, eyes wide. "Wait. Today?"
Adriano nodded. "Today. Right now, if we want."
She stared at him. He could see the part of her that still had to check whether this was a prank — the part that kept her holiday-movie skepticism in reserve — but there was something else under it: the same excitement that had pulled her out of bed for premieres and last-minute flights.
Kate looked torn between irritation at being woken up and excitement bubbling under the surface. "You dragged me out of bed to go collect a private jet?"
"I'm very practical," he said. "We travel too much. It made sense."
"Lunch, groceries, practical," she said, lunging for the half-joking parallel. "A jet is not practical."
For a moment she glared at him, then sighed, falling back onto the pillow. "You're impossible. Give me twenty minutes."
"And coffee. You owe me coffee."
"Fifteen," he chuckled and kissed her. "We're driving, and I don't want Mendes calling me with that passive-aggressive 'where are you?' voice."
Kate threw a pillow at him. "You're lucky you're cute."
By the time they were on the road, Kate had transformed from groggy to glamorous in record time. Oversized sunglasses, casual cream sweater, skinny jeans, and boots—effortless but still very much Kate Upton.
Adriano kept it simple, hoodie and joggers, the kind of low-profile look he preferred when not on the pitch.
The Bugatti hummed down the motorway toward London, the early morning traffic just starting to pick up. They were on the road before the city properly woke. The drive down to London was quiet, two people who knew how to slide from sleep into conversation: the easy exchange of small details, the steady peace that had become their ordinary.
Kate leaned her head against the window, watching the gray blur of motorway pass by, while Adriano kept his hands steady on the wheel, half-focus on the road and half on what she'd do when she first saw the plane.
Kate rested her head against the seat, watching the countryside. "I still can't believe you just… bought a plane. Do you realize how insane that sounds?"
Adriano shrugged, eyes on the road. "I needed something reliable. And comfortable. We're flying constantly—Manchester to Lisbon, London to LA, matches, premieres. Commercial flights are chaos. Chartering or booking flights every time is even worse. This makes sense."
Kate gave a small laugh. "Only you could make buying a Gulfstream sound logical, like picking up milk at the store."
"Milk doesn't come with Italian leather seats and a king-size bed."
She shook her head, smiling despite herself. "Do you even remember when we first started dating and you'd take me on those budget airlines?"
Adriano chuckled. "And you nearly killed me when the flight to Lisbon got delayed four hours."
"You bought me Burger King to make up for it. That was your grand gesture."
"And it worked."
"Barely," she teased.
"You've painted the tail, right?" she asked suddenly.
"Subtle stripe," he answered. "I'm not trying to land a nightclub. Just a small personal touch." He glanced at her. "And my initials. Discreet."
She laughed. "Discreet for you means a little less than the sky."
"You'll like it anyway." He tried to make his voice casual even though the grin was impossible to hide.
They fell into easy conversation, the kind that came naturally now. Talk about Christmas plans, the madness of the last few months, the endless stream of headlines tying them together.
Adriano admitted he was nervous about leaving for international duty again soon, while Kate confessed she was still wrapping her head around the engagement, the sudden blur of commitments and travel.
By the time they reached the outskirts of London, the mood in the car had shifted from sleepy to electric anticipation. Kate kept sneaking glances at him, her curiosity getting the better of her.
"So," she said finally, "what does a Gulfstream actually look like? Is it as fancy as those ridiculous brochures Mendes showed us?"
"Better," Adriano replied. "Wait until you see the interior. I customized everything. Portuguese leather, custom bar setup, entertainment system. There's even a small office space. Mendes thought I was mad, but trust me—it'll pay off."
Kate raised her brows. "You really thought this through."
"Of course. If I'm going to spend hours flying, it better feel like home."
They arrived at the hangar during the soft hour between sunrise and business, a sliver of light hitting polished metal. The hangar door lifted with a low mechanical groan, and there it was: long, glossy, impossibly smooth.
The Gulfstream G650 took up space as if it owned the floor, white and clean, engines like rounded silver lemons. Near the nose, a narrow band of blue curved along the fuselage. Up close the AR10 logo with Crown he'd chosen embossed on the body. Nothing ostentatious, but unmistakably his.
Kate gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh my God."
Adriano parked and stepped out, watching her reaction closely.
Kate's mouth fell open, the exact kind of moment Adriano had wanted to catch. She walked slowly, fingertips tracing nothing, more to keep her hands busy than from any real impulse to touch polished fuselage.
"Babe… this doesn't feel real."
Adriano chuckled and held her hand. " It's real dear. Or I can pinch you if you feel it's a dream?"
Kate moved away immediately. " Nope. Not happening here. I know where you like to pinch."
Adriano raised his hands in surrender. " What can I say? I am a dude with the hottest fiance living with him. You're lucky you're not pregnant already. Heh, maybe we can join the mile high club with our plane."
Kate blushed furiously and smacked his shoulder. " Adri! You really have no filter ! Keep that talk for when we are alone."
He raised his eyebrow. " That wasn't exactly a No I heard babe."
Kate looked away. "You are really incorrigible."
Mendes appeared from inside the hangar, his trademark suit immaculate even this early in the morning. "Finally," he said with a grin. "I was starting to think you'd overslept."
"Kate nearly did," Adriano teased.
"Don't blame me," Kate shot back. "You ambushed me."
Mendes chuckled, then gestured toward a tall man in uniform standing by the stairs of the plane. "This is Robert—your pilot. Thirty years of experience. Flew for Emirates, then for a royal family in Dubai. You're in good hands."
Robert — tall, calm, uniform immaculate — stepped forward and offered his hand with an old-airline captain's confidence. "Morning. Pleasure to meet you both. We'll be ready whenever you like."
Adriano shook it firmly. Kate followed, smiling politely. "So you're the one keeping us from crashing?"
Robert's lips quirked in amusement. "That's the idea."
"We'll keep you on for now," Mendes said. "Crew's lined up. Security checks. Fueling is done. You get a full briefing, sign a couple of documents, the usual, and you're airborne before the new year."
Adriano motioned toward the stairs. "Shall we?"
Inside, the jet was even more breathtaking. Cream leather seats, rich walnut paneling, subtle lighting that gave the cabin a warm, inviting glow. A plush lounge area with a widescreen TV, a large dining table, and further down, a few small private suites with a bed and bathroom.
Kate walked in circles, her heels clicking against the polished floor. "This is… insane. It's like a floating penthouse."
Adriano dropped onto one of the couches, patting the seat beside him. "Come sit. Try it out."
She sat, still staring around. "I don't even know what to say."
"You don't have to. Just enjoy it."
"This is ridiculous," she said, and didn't mean "ridiculous" like an accusation. She sank into one of the seats, and he joined her across the aisle, watching her touch the stitching of the upholstery as if it had a pulse.
She pulled out her phone, which had been half-in her bag since the alarm, and angled it toward the window so the plane framed them: Kate in sunglasses, messy bun, leaning in with a bright, slightly conspiratorial smile; Adriano relaxed, casual, the kind of look he wore when he didn't have a camera pointed at him. She tapped the screen, chose a filter that kept colors true, then typed the caption with a quick bit of mischief: "When you ask your man to book the plane tickets, but he buys a whole new plane!"
She hesitated for a second, thumb hovering, then tapped post.
They stood there, both of them half-expecting the moment to be small and private. Instead the phone vibrated almost immediately. A stream of notifications blossomed like fireworks: likes, comments, emojis. Mendes read over her shoulder and grinned.
"He'll hate you for a week," Mendes said, folding his hands. "But his PR will love you."
Kate laughed and scrolled. A name pinged in blue: Chris Evans. "This is the most Adriano thing I've ever seen," his comment read. Minutes later, Chris Hemsworth chimed in: "Call me when you fly to Sydney. I'll bring the beer." Henry Cavill left a thumbs-up. Sophia Bush wrote a string of laughing emojis with a short, warm: "Iconic caption." Scarlett Johansson left a single word: "Ridiculous," followed by three laughing face emojis that made them both grin.
Not just friends. The teammates were already there. De Bruyne's cheeky comment — "Invite us for the maiden flight or we'll bunk," — scrolled by. Salah posted a winking face. Kompany demanded the captain's seat with mock seriousness. Kane asked to sit shotgun.
The feed filled like a conversation at a party: jokes, quick congratulations, private jabs that only full-time friends and workmates could deliver. Kate read them aloud, savoring how each message felt less like public applause and more like a ripple of warmth. "They're all idiots," she told Adriano, but she wasn't scolding; she was delighted.
Inevitably, the thread split. Alongside praise and the celebrity banter came a few sharp comments: "Wasting money much?" "You should have donated more of that," said another. Kate's thumb paused at an account that had already amassed a few retweets and angered comments in reply. For a second she felt the familiar, prickly political heat that followed any public act involving wealth.
Adriano reached across the table and took her hand. "Ignore the idiots," he said simply. "People like to shout."
She handed him the phone, pointing out a comment about his recent SickKids donation. Someone had already posted the cheque photograph from the fundraiser the week before and scrolled that underneath the naysayers. Fans had turned critic comments into a kind of defense, a righteous counterpoint: screenshots of the five-million donation, memes with the caption — Buys a plane, also donates more than your salary last week — tumbling down the feed and softening the edge of the initial criticism.
"See?" she said. "You give someone five million and the internet still thinks someone's going to choose to be angry about a plane."
He squeezed her hand. "Social media edits reality for a living," he said. "But I don't mind the noise tonight. This is ours."
Peter, one of Mendes's operations men, walked them through a checklist by the galley. Robert explained systems — redundancies, the quietness in flight, the crew's routine. He spoke in confident, measured tones that made Adriano relax; this part of the process belonged to professionals, people who could make a million small things feel ordinary. Robert talked about the first test run, a short flight with just pilot and engineer to check systems, and the possibility of a smooth, two-hour shakedown early next week. Adriano listened and asked three practical questions about range and maintenance contracts; Kate asked whether the bed could be made into a sofa. Both sets of questions were necessary; this was their life now and a private jet had to be useful as much as it had to be luxurious.
They moved through the cabin like people testing rooms in a new home. Kate perched at the small dining table and pretended to check a menu. Adriano opened the small wood-veneered cupboard, checked the secure storage, and made a point of saying the words out loud that were tiny but meaningful to him: "Portuguese leather."
"You went full Portuguese?" she asked, eyebrows raised.
"My grandfather would be proud," he said. "Comfort and craftsmanship. That's the idea."
She leaned back, feet tucked under her on the seat, and laughed softly, then put her head on his shoulder. "I'm glad." She sounded like she meant more than just the plane. "I'm glad you wanted something that felt like us."
They lingered long enough for the hangar to take in their shapes. Mendes moved in and out, arranging signatures and schedules. Robert outlined the pilot's schedule, the legal formalities, and the first trip they'd make once paperwork cleared. The world beyond the hangar felt paused: a small bubble into which they had stepped.
When they finally walked back toward the car, the sun had risen enough to toss a low reflection across the plane's fuselage. Kate's feed kept buzzing; she waved off Mendes's questions about logistics because the important bits were private and quiet, the small companionship that had become their constant.
In the car, she scrolled one more time, smiling at the parade of comments and liking the most affectionate ones. Someone had made a meme of the two of them — his trophy arm and the cheque for SickKids beneath, with the words: Rich? Sure. Also generous. Kate saved it and sent it to him without a word.
He looked at it, then at her. "You posted from your account," he said.
She shrugged. "Of course. It's funnier that way." She snuck a quick look at him, softer now. "Don't act like you didn't want this."
He exhaled, a smile faltering into something quieter. "I did. But this is better. You posted it."
She bumped her shoulder against his. "You wake me up for this, and I get the best line of the day. Balance."
He laughed, and for a moment the road ahead seemed full of nothing but simple things: paper signatures to sign, a maiden test flight to take, coffee to drink properly this time. The rest — the opinions, the critics, the headlines — could wait.
Right now, it was enough to sit with her and that caption floating across screens, the noise of social media already spinning threads he'd have to weather later.
For the first time in weeks he let himself move through the small domestic happiness of it: the plane as an answer to a life that required motion, her smile as the best part of whatever came next.
With that, the new years eve arrived slowly.
******
Adriano's Stats 2015-16 Season
Premier League
Match: 19
Goals: 31
Assists: 13
Champions League
Match:6
Goal: 12
Assist: 5
Community Shield
Match: 1
Goals : 2
Assists: 2
Capital One Cup
Match: 2
Goal: 4
Assists: 0
Euro Qualifiers
Match: 4
Goals: 6
Assist: 2