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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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The Champions League night in Porto had been unforgettable, but football never stopped moving forward as another challenge was already waiting.
The days following Arsenal's unforgettable night in Porto passed with remarkable speed.
European football had given the squad another reason to believe.
The 6–0 victory dominated every newspaper, every television programme and every football discussion across England, but inside London Colney, Arsène Wenger refused to let anyone dwell on it for long.
The Champions League could wait.
Now another competition demanded complete attention.
The FA Cup.
It was a tournament Wenger treasured perhaps more than anyone else in English football. He had built part of his legacy on afternoons and evenings in this competition, and every member of the squad understood exactly how seriously he took it.
Recovery sessions quickly turned back into full training.
The players who had started against Porto focused on lighter work during the first day before gradually returning to normal intensity.
Meanwhile, those who had played fewer minutes worked even harder.
Giroud remained on the training pitch long after several teammates had gone inside, repeatedly practising first-time finishes with Steve Bould.
Iwobi worked on his crossing.
Ramsey and Wilshere rehearsed pressing patterns.
David Raya spent extra time with Tony Colbert and the goalkeeping coaches, preparing for the opportunity Wenger had already hinted would arrive.
"You'll be ready," the manager had told him.
Raya had simply nodded.
"I will."
Francesco watched many of those sessions with quiet appreciation.
One of Arsenal's greatest strengths wasn't simply the quality of the starting eleven.
It was the hunger throughout the entire squad.
Everyone wanted to play.
Everyone pushed each other.
Nobody allowed standards to fall.
Before long, another matchday arrived.
This time there was no European anthem.
No passports.
No airport terminals.
Instead, the squad gathered early at London Colney before boarding the familiar team coach bound for West London.
Their destination was one of English football's most iconic grounds.
Stamford Bridge.
The roads into London were busy despite the cool morning, and conversations drifted naturally throughout the bus.
Walker glanced across the aisle at Francesco.
"It feels strange."
"What does?"
"Not getting on a plane."
Robertson laughed.
"You've become spoiled."
"I kind of have."
Alexis looked up from his phone.
"You'll survive."
"I hope so."
"You've only travelled forty minutes."
"Exactly."
Several teammates smiled.
Even after one of the biggest victories of the season, the atmosphere remained wonderfully relaxed.
As the coach turned onto Fulham Road, Stamford Bridge slowly appeared ahead.
Blue banners surrounded the stadium.
Chelsea supporters were already gathering outside the entrances.
Many recognised the Arsenal bus immediately.
Some waved sarcastically.
Others simply stared as the visitors rolled through the secure entrance beneath the West Stand.
The coach came to a gentle stop.
No one needed reminding where they were.
This ground had witnessed countless fierce battles between Arsenal and Chelsea over the years.
Today's meeting would add another chapter.
One by one the players stepped off the bus before disappearing into the concrete corridors beneath the stadium.
The smell of freshly cut grass drifted through the tunnel.
Club officials directed them towards the away dressing room.
Inside, everything had already been prepared.
Each shirt hung perfectly above its assigned seat.
Every locker carried a neatly folded training kit.
Fresh towels.
Polished boots.
Water bottles arranged with military precision.
The Arsenal crest decorated one wall.
The FA Cup logo decorated another.
Francesco found his place before beginning to change.
He already knew today's role.
The bench.
Wenger had spoken to him privately the previous afternoon.
"You've played a great deal recently."
"I want fresh legs later if we need them."
Francesco hadn't argued.
Squad rotation had been one of Arsenal's greatest strengths throughout the campaign.
If the team was going to challenge on multiple fronts, everyone would have to contribute.
Nearby, Giroud looked focused as he laced up his boots.
Today would be his opportunity to lead the attack from the opening whistle.
Francesco walked over and tapped him lightly on the shoulder.
"Enjoy it."
Giroud smiled.
"I intend to."
"I'll be ready if you need me."
"I know."
Around the room players continued preparing.
Tape wrapped around ankles.
Music played quietly from a speaker in the corner.
Mustafi joked with Holding.
Ramsey stretched carefully on a yoga mat.
Wilshere bounced lightly on his toes, eager to get started.
Tony Colbert appeared at the doorway.
"Five minutes."
Immediately the room became quieter.
Training jackets zipped closed.
The players rose together before following Wenger into the tunnel.
Moments later they emerged beneath the afternoon sky for the warm-up.
A loud roar greeted both teams.
Although kickoff remained some distance away, Stamford Bridge was already filling quickly.
Blue shirts dominated almost every stand.
High in one corner, the travelling Arsenal supporters proudly answered with songs of their own.
The pitch looked immaculate.
Dark green stripes stretched from one penalty area to the other.
Ground staff had prepared another flawless playing surface.
Warm-ups began immediately.
Fitness coaches led mobility exercises before splitting the squad into smaller groups.
Raya worked separately with the goalkeeping staff, diving sharply from post to post.
Mustafi and Holding rehearsed defensive clearances.
Monreal and Bellerín sprinted repeatedly down both flanks.
Further forward, Cazorla orchestrated passing drills involving Ramsey, Wilshere, Iwobi and Gnabry.
Giroud practised finishing from crosses delivered by the wingers.
Every strike echoed satisfyingly into the empty netting.
Meanwhile, Francesco warmed up with the substitutes.
Although he would begin on the bench, his concentration never slipped.
Football had taught him too often that matches could change without warning.
A substitute sometimes became the most important player of the afternoon.
Walker nudged him while stretching.
"You'll get on."
Francesco shrugged.
"We'll see."
"If we're winning comfortably…"
"You'll stay seated."
"And if we're chasing the game?"
Walker grinned.
"Then they'll need Captain Hero."
Francesco laughed.
"I'll settle for Captain Substitute."
Soon the warm-up ended.
The Arsenal players applauded the travelling supporters before jogging back through the tunnel.
Inside the dressing room, the mood immediately shifted.
Training tops disappeared.
Match shirts replaced them.
Studs were tightened.
Shin pads secured.
The quiet hum of conversation gradually faded as Wenger stepped toward the tactical board.
Every player gave him their full attention.
The Frenchman picked up his marker.
"We'll rotate today."
He drew the familiar shape onto the board.
"Our formation remains 4-2-3-1."
His marker moved to the goal.
"David."
"You're in goal."
Raya nodded confidently.
"I'm ready."
"The back four."
"Nacho."
"Shkodran."
"Rob."
"Héctor."
Monreal, Mustafi, Holding and Bellerín all acknowledged the instructions.
"In midfield…"
"Aaron."
"Jack."
"You'll protect the defence."
Both men exchanged determined nods.
"Santi."
"You'll play ahead of them."
Cazorla smiled.
"Understood."
The manager shifted toward the wings.
"Alex."
"Left."
"Sergi."
"Right."
Iwobi and Gnabry looked completely focused.
Finally Wenger pointed toward Giroud.
"Olivier."
"You lead the line."
Giroud stood slightly straighter.
"Ready."
Wenger then turned toward the substitutes.
"Stay engaged."
He looked directly at Francesco.
"We may need you."
Francesco answered simply.
"I'll be ready."
The manager folded his arms.
"Chelsea will play their usual 3-4-2-1."
He drew their shape on the opposite side.
"Courtois in goal."
"Cahill."
"Rüdiger."
"Ampadu."
"Emerson."
"Fàbregas."
"Drinkwater."
"Zappacosta."
"Willian."
"Pedro."
"Morata."
He tapped the midfield area.
"We must stop Fàbregas controlling possession."
Then the flanks.
"Be alert whenever Willian or Pedro drift inside."
He paused.
"This won't be easy."
"But trust yourselves."
The referee's assistant appeared outside.
"Time."
The players rose together.
Francesco led the substitutes toward the tunnel behind the starting eleven.
Chelsea's players were already waiting opposite.
Antonio Conte stood further down the line, speaking animatedly with his coaching staff.
His energy contrasted sharply with Wenger's composed demeanour.
The tunnel doors opened.
The noise doubled instantly.
Both teams walked onto the pitch beneath a wall of sound.
Formalities followed.
Handshakes.
Team photographs.
The captains met the referee.
Then both sides took their positions.
Francesco settled onto the bench beside Alexis, Walker and Van Dijk.
From there he could see everything.
Conte immediately began shouting instructions.
"Press!"
"Forward!"
"Move!"
His players responded aggressively from the opening whistle.
Chelsea wasted no time imposing themselves.
Willian drifted dangerously into central areas.
Pedro floated cleverly between Arsenal's midfield and defence.
Morata constantly challenged Mustafi and Holding with clever movement.
For the opening ten minutes the contest became exactly what everyone had expected.
Fast.
Physical.
Relentless.
Ramsey threw himself into tackles.
Wilshere refused to give Chelsea's midfield any comfort.
Cazorla calmly tried to slow the rhythm whenever Arsenal regained possession.
On the touchline Wenger watched quietly.
Occasionally clapping.
Occasionally gesturing for his team to remain patient.
Then, gradually, Arsenal found their rhythm.
Bellerín began exploiting space behind Emerson.
Iwobi drifted intelligently inside.
Gnabry attacked Ampadu whenever the opportunity appeared.
Giroud occupied Chelsea's back three brilliantly.
In the sixteenth minute, the breakthrough arrived.
The move started with Ramsey winning possession in midfield.
Instead of forcing the play, he laid the ball into Wilshere's path.
Jack immediately looked forward.
Giroud had peeled cleverly away from Cahill.
Without hesitation Wilshere threaded a perfectly weighted pass through Chelsea's defensive line.
Giroud met it in stride.
Courtois rushed from his goal.
The French striker remained calm.
With one composed touch, he guided the ball beyond the Belgian goalkeeper and into the far corner.
Goal.
The away supporters erupted.
Giroud punched both fists into the air before turning toward the Arsenal bench.
Francesco was one of the first to leap to his feet.
"Come on!"
Walker applauded enthusiastically.
"What a finish!"
Wilshere sprinted over to embrace Giroud.
"I knew you'd make that run."
Giroud grinned.
"I'll always make it."
The scoreboard changed.
Chelsea 0-1 Arsenal.
For several minutes Arsenal controlled possession confidently.
Ramsey and Wilshere dictated the tempo.
Cazorla glided effortlessly between blue shirts.
Conte, however, refused to remain still.
He paced continuously along the technical area.
More instructions.
More encouragement.
More urgency.
Chelsea slowly responded.
Willian became increasingly influential.
Pedro drifted into dangerous pockets.
Fàbregas began finding passing lanes Arsenal had previously closed.
Then, in the thirty-first minute, Chelsea found their equaliser.
Fàbregas received possession just inside Arsenal's half.
He immediately spotted Willian accelerating between Monreal and Mustafi.
The Spaniard delivered a magnificent through ball.
Willian controlled it perfectly before driving into the penalty area.
Raya rushed forward.
The Brazilian calmly fired beyond him into the bottom corner.
Stamford Bridge exploded.
Blue flags waved wildly.
Conte celebrated passionately near the touchline.
The score was level.
Chelsea 1-1 Arsenal.
On Arsenal's bench nobody panicked.
Francesco leaned slightly forward.
"Stay calm."
Alexis nodded.
"There's plenty of football left."
The match became increasingly physical.
Challenges flew in across midfield.
Ramsey and Drinkwater clashed repeatedly.
Holding produced an outstanding block to deny Morata.
At the opposite end Courtois tipped Gnabry's curling effort around the post.
Both sides searched relentlessly for another breakthrough.
Two minutes before halftime Chelsea struck again.
Pedro drifted inside from the left before exchanging a quick one-two with Morata near the edge of the penalty area.
Mustafi stepped forward.
Pedro skipped past him with remarkable agility.
From just inside the box, the Spaniard whipped a precise finish beyond Raya into the far corner.
Goal.
Chelsea 2-1 Arsenal.
The home supporters celebrated wildly.
Conte punched the air.
Pedro sprinted toward the Matthew Harding Stand before disappearing beneath a wave of blue shirts.
Arsenal players stood silently for a moment.
They knew the timing hurt.
Wenger remained calm.
He simply gestured with both hands.
"Focus."
"There are still minutes."
Arsenal tried to respond before the interval.
Cazorla almost found Giroud with a delicate chipped pass.
Gnabry forced Courtois into another comfortable save.
But Chelsea defended their advantage well.
Soon the referee checked his watch.
One long whistle echoed around Stamford Bridge.
Halftime.
Chelsea 2-1 Arsenal.
The Arsenal players walked steadily back toward the dressing room.
Nobody spoke much.
There was disappointment, certainly.
They had led.
Now they trailed.
Yet there was no panic.
Only concentration.
As the dressing-room door closed behind them, Wenger waited until every player had taken a seat.
The tactical board stood ready once again.
The manager picked up his marker and looked around the room.
Forty-five minutes remained.
The FA Cup tie was far from over.
Every player leaned forward, waiting to hear exactly how Wenger wanted Arsenal to approach the second half.
Wenger allowed the silence to settle over the dressing room.
Nobody interrupted it.
Not Ramsey.
Not Giroud.
Not even Walker from the substitutes' bench.
The only sounds came from heavy breathing and the occasional hiss of a water bottle being opened.
Chelsea had finished the first half stronger.
That much was undeniable.
But Wenger's expression never suggested panic.
He walked slowly to the tactical board, marker in hand, before drawing Chelsea's familiar back three once again.
"Chelsea want us to become impatient."
His calm voice immediately commanded the room.
"They're comfortable defending deep once they have the lead."
He drew arrows from Cahill to Rüdiger, then across to Ampadu.
"Their three centre-backs stay narrow."
Another line appeared toward Emerson and Zappacosta.
"The width comes from the wing-backs."
He looked around the room.
"So we stretch them."
The marker tapped the edge of the board.
"Héctor."
"When Sergi comes inside, I want you overlapping."
Bellerín nodded.
"Nacho."
"The same on the opposite side whenever Alex drifts centrally."
Monreal answered quietly.
"Understood."
Wenger turned toward the midfield.
"Santi."
"You've found space several times."
"But I want you receiving the ball even earlier."
He pointed toward Ramsey and Wilshere.
"Aaron. Jack."
"Move the ball quicker."
"Don't allow Fàbregas and Drinkwater to settle."
Both midfielders nodded.
Then Wenger looked directly at Giroud.
"Olivier."
"You've occupied their defenders well."
"Keep doing it."
"Bring our midfield into the game."
Finally, he stepped back from the board.
"We're not going out there hoping."
"We're going out there attacking."
His voice remained measured, yet every word carried weight.
"I want courage."
"I want movement."
"I want us to force Chelsea backwards."
He paused.
"If we play our football…"
"…this match changes."
Francesco watched from the substitutes' bench, absorbing every instruction.
Beside him Alexis folded his arms.
"We're going to push them."
Francesco nodded.
"They'll have to defend much deeper."
Wenger looked toward the bench.
"Stay ready."
His eyes rested briefly on Francesco.
"I'll need fresh energy."
"I'll be ready."
The manager smiled faintly.
"I know."
Francesco stood before everyone else.
He clapped loudly.
"Forty-five minutes."
"We fight together."
The response came instantly.
"Together!"
Moments later Arsenal emerged once again beneath the afternoon sky.
The Stamford Bridge crowd welcomed Chelsea back with deafening applause.
Blue flags rippled across the Matthew Harding Stand.
Antonio Conte was already outside his technical area before the players reached the halfway line.
Arsène Wenger stood several yards away with his hands tucked calmly into his coat pockets.
Different personalities.
The same determination.
The referee checked with both assistants.
One sharp whistle.
The second half began.
Chelsea immediately slowed the tempo.
Instead of pressing aggressively, they kept possession patiently across their back line.
Cahill rolled passes toward Rüdiger.
Ampadu recycled possession.
Drinkwater dropped deeper to receive.
Conte gestured repeatedly.
"Calm!"
"Keep the ball!"
He wanted Arsenal to become frustrated.
Instead, Arsenal followed Wenger's instructions perfectly.
Ramsey stepped forward to press.
Wilshere closed Drinkwater.
Giroud screened passes into Fàbregas.
Behind them Cazorla floated intelligently between Chelsea's midfield lines.
Every Arsenal player moved together.
Every press had purpose.
Chelsea gradually found themselves retreating closer to their own penalty area.
Then, in the fifty-first minute, Arsenal found the equaliser.
The move began with Monreal intercepting a pass intended for Willian.
Rather than clearing long, he played calmly into Ramsey.
Ramsey immediately found Cazorla.
The Spaniard looked up.
There was no obvious passing lane.
Giroud was tightly marked.
Iwobi had two defenders around him.
Instead of forcing the play, Cazorla took one touch across his body.
Another.
Suddenly a small pocket of space opened twenty-five yards from goal.
Without hesitation, he struck through the ball beautifully.
The shot flew through the afternoon air with incredible pace.
Courtois launched himself full stretch.
He never reached it.
The ball screamed into the top corner.
Goal.
Chelsea 2-2 Arsenal.
The travelling supporters exploded.
Cazorla sprinted toward the away end with both arms spread wide.
Ramsey reached him first.
"What a strike!"
Cazorla laughed.
"I couldn't resist."
Giroud wrapped both men in an embrace.
"I thought you were crossing."
"So did Chelsea."
Even Wenger allowed himself a brief smile.
Exactly the response he had demanded.
Conte immediately barked fresh instructions.
His players attempted to regain control.
Chelsea enjoyed a spell of possession, but Arsenal looked transformed.
Their confidence had returned.
Every pass carried conviction.
Every tackle arrived with greater intensity.
On the bench Francesco watched every movement carefully.
His boots remained tied.
His jacket already removed.
He had noticed the fourth official speaking with one of Arsenal's coaching staff.
A few moments later Wenger turned toward him.
"Francesco."
The striker was already standing.
"Yes, boss."
"You're going on."
A smile appeared naturally.
"I'm ready."
The substitution board soon lit up.
Sixty-two minutes.
Number 17.
Alex Iwobi.
Number 28.
Sergi Gnabry.
Number 10.
Jack Wilshere.
Coming on…
Francesco.
Bukayo Saka.
Emile Smith Rowe.
The away supporters applauded enthusiastically as the three substitutes prepared themselves.
Francesco hugged Giroud briefly as they exchanged places.
"Good goal."
Giroud smiled.
"Go finish it."
"I'll try."
Saka jogged onto the right wing, his young face filled with excitement.
Smith Rowe took up a central attacking role.
Chelsea also made a change.
Conte called Pedro across.
The Spaniard received warm applause before making way.
Victor Moses entered immediately, bringing fresh legs down Chelsea's right flank.
The game restarted.
Francesco's arrival produced an almost instant tactical reaction.
Cahill stepped tighter.
Rüdiger refused to leave his side.
Whenever Francesco drifted into space, one centre-back followed while Drinkwater dropped closer to help.
Chelsea had no intention of allowing Arsenal's captain room to breathe.
Francesco noticed it immediately.
"So that's your plan," he murmured.
He smiled to himself.
If two defenders focused entirely on him, someone else would be free.
That someone quickly became Bukayo Saka.
With Chelsea's defensive line constantly narrowing toward Francesco, space opened repeatedly down Arsenal's right flank.
Cazorla spotted it first.
A perfectly weighted switch of play found the teenager near the touchline.
Saka attacked Emerson without hesitation.
One quick feint.
A drop of the shoulder.
The full-back stumbled.
The travelling supporters rose excitedly.
Walker laughed from the bench.
"Go on, kid!"
Saka accelerated into the penalty area before cutting the ball back dangerously.
Only a desperate clearance prevented another Arsenal chance.
A few minutes later he did it again.
This time Moses doubled up with Emerson.
Still Saka wriggled between them with fearless dribbling.
Francesco applauded.
"Excellent!"
Confidence flowed through the young winger.
Chelsea had become increasingly concerned about Arsenal's right side.
Then came the breakthrough.
The seventy-fourth minute.
Ramsey recovered possession deep in midfield before finding Cazorla.
The Spaniard turned effortlessly away from Drinkwater.
His first instinct was to find Francesco.
Predictably, both Cahill and Rüdiger immediately closed him down.
Exactly as Arsenal had hoped.
Instead of forcing the pass, Cazorla calmly switched play toward Saka.
The youngster received the ball near the corner of the penalty area.
Emerson rushed toward him.
Saka smiled.
One quick step-over.
Another.
He skipped beyond the defender before driving toward the byline.
Chelsea's defence collapsed toward him.
Francesco occupied two defenders inside the six-yard box.
Smith Rowe continued his run unnoticed.
At precisely the right moment Saka pulled the ball back across the penalty area.
Smith Rowe arrived in perfect stride.
One controlled first touch.
Then a composed finish low beyond Courtois.
Goal.
Chelsea 2-3 Arsenal.
The away end erupted once again.
Smith Rowe sprinted away in disbelief.
His first instinct was to point directly toward Saka.
The teenager followed moments later before both youngsters disappeared beneath celebrating teammates.
Francesco reached them laughing.
"What a ball!"
Saka could barely stop smiling.
"I saw him late."
Smith Rowe embraced both of them.
"I thought you'd shoot."
"I saw you."
From the touchline Wenger applauded calmly.
Steve Bould leaned across.
"The youngsters have changed it."
Wenger nodded.
"So has Francesco."
Indeed, although he hadn't yet scored, Chelsea's entire defensive shape had shifted because of his presence.
Conte understood it too.
He shouted continuously.
"Stay compact!"
"Don't let him turn!"
Yet every time Chelsea devoted extra attention to Francesco, another Arsenal player found space elsewhere.
The final ten minutes approached.
Chelsea threw more men forward.
Willian attempted several dangerous crosses.
Morata forced Raya into an excellent save with a powerful header.
Holding produced another brave block inside the penalty area.
The game became stretched.
Exactly the sort of situation Francesco enjoyed.
Then, in the eighty-first minute, Arsenal struck again.
Ramsey intercepted another loose pass before immediately feeding Cazorla.
The Spaniard lifted his head.
This time Chelsea's defenders hesitated.
Should they close Cazorla?
Or track Francesco?
That single moment of uncertainty proved fatal.
Cazorla threaded a magnificent through ball between Cahill and Rüdiger.
Francesco exploded into the gap.
One touch carried him clear.
Courtois rushed from his goal.
The striker stayed wonderfully composed.
He waited.
Waited another fraction of a second.
Then calmly lifted the ball over the advancing goalkeeper.
It bounced once before nestling inside the empty net.
Goal.
Chelsea 2-4 Arsenal.
Francesco spread his arms before turning toward the travelling supporters.
The roar from the away section echoed around Stamford Bridge.
His teammates surrounded him almost immediately.
Cazorla reached him first.
"I knew you'd make that run."
Francesco laughed.
"And I knew you'd see it."
Ramsey wrapped an arm around both players.
"Perfect football."
On the bench Walker jumped to his feet.
"There he is!"
"I told you!"
Robertson laughed beside him.
"You call him Captain Hero as a joke."
Walker grinned proudly.
"I'm starting to believe it."
Wenger simply clapped toward the pitch.
No wild celebration.
Just satisfaction.
His substitutions had transformed the match.
Conte stood motionless for several seconds before turning back toward his technical area.
His side had been in control at halftime.
Now they trailed by two goals.
Chelsea pushed desperately during the closing minutes.
Willian fired narrowly wide.
Moses delivered dangerous crosses.
Fàbregas searched for openings with trademark vision.
But Arsenal defended with tremendous discipline.
Mustafi headed away everything that entered the box.
Holding refused to give Morata a yard.
Ramsey and Cazorla continued working tirelessly in midfield despite heavy legs.
Francesco tracked back repeatedly, helping close passing lanes whenever Chelsea attempted one final attack.
The fourth official indicated four minutes of added time.
The away supporters whistled every passing second.
One final Chelsea corner came and went.
Raya punched clear confidently.
Bellerín collected the loose ball before carrying it toward the halfway line.
The referee glanced at his watch.
One final whistle.
Match over.
Chelsea 2-4 Arsenal.
The Arsenal players celebrated together in front of the away supporters.
It had been another outstanding comeback.
They had fallen behind.
They had responded with character.
Wenger walked onto the pitch and shook Conte's hand respectfully before embracing several of his players.
"Excellent response," he said.
"You showed personality."
Francesco smiled as he looked around Stamford Bridge.
Just a few days after dismantling Porto in Europe, Arsenal had produced another statement performance.
Different competition.
Different starting eleven.
The same winning mentality.
The Gunners were through to the next round of the FA Cup, and belief inside the squad continued to grow that this remarkable season might still have even greater moments waiting ahead.
______________________________________________
Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 19 (2017)
Birthplace : London, England
Football Club : Arsenal First Team
Championship History : 2014/2015 Premier League, 2014/2015 FA Cup, 2015/2016 Community Shield, 2016/2017 Premier League, 2015/2016 Champions League, Euro 2016, Premier League Champion 2016/2017, and 2016/2017 Champions League.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 41
Goal: 48
Assist: 6
MOTM: 5
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