If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
_____________________________
(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
Because there was nothing unbelievable about it anymore, as England were world champions.
The hotel corridor was quiet by the time Francesco reached his room.
The noise from the celebrations had disappeared behind several floors of walls and closed doors.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, there were no cameras.
No supporters singing.
No teammates shouting.
No music.
Just the soft hum of the hotel and the faint sound of footsteps somewhere farther down the corridor.
Francesco stopped outside his room.
He looked down at the gold medal still hanging around his neck.
Then he smiled.
He unlocked the door.
Inside, the room was exactly as he had left it.
His belongings were scattered around.
His boots were near the chair.
His jacket had been thrown across the edge of the bed.
A few pieces of clothing were lying where he had dropped them earlier.
He barely noticed any of it.
Because sitting safely inside its protective case was the World Cup.
Francesco walked over.
He stared at it for several seconds.
Then he carefully picked it up.
The weight immediately returned to his hands.
He smiled again.
There was something almost comforting about feeling it there.
Real.
Still there.
Not a photograph.
Not something on a television screen.
The actual World Cup.
Francesco sat on the edge of the bed with the trophy beside him.
He should have gone straight to sleep.
He knew that.
But he couldn't.
Not yet.
He kept looking at the trophy.
He ran a hand through his tired hair.
Then quietly laughed to himself.
"Still can't believe it."
He placed the trophy carefully beside the bed.
He changed out of his England kit, washed his face and eventually climbed beneath the covers.
But even then, he couldn't bring himself to move the trophy farther away.
It stayed beside the bed.
Within reach.
Francesco glanced at it one final time.
Then his eyes finally closed.
The last thing he saw before sleep took him was the gold of the Jules Rimet Trophy catching the soft light from the bedside lamp.
Then morning came far too quickly.
Moscow was already awake by the time the England delegation began stirring.
The previous night's celebrations had left their mark.
Players emerged from their rooms looking exhausted.
Some had barely managed a few hours of sleep.
Others looked as though they could have slept for an entire day.
But almost every face carried the same expression.
A smile.
A tired smile.
A ridiculous smile.
The sort of smile that refused to disappear.
Down in the hotel lobby, players gradually began gathering.
Kane arrived first among one group, carrying a cup of coffee.
He looked at Henderson.
"I've slept about three hours."
Henderson laughed.
"Luxury."
Rooney appeared behind them.
"I think I got two."
Sterling walked into the lobby wearing a tracksuit and looking half-asleep.
"I'm not even sure I slept."
Pickford laughed.
"You were dancing until about four."
Sterling shrugged.
"Worth it."
The laughter spread through the lobby.
Then the elevator doors opened.
Francesco stepped out.
The conversation stopped.
Not because there was anything unusual about him.
But because he was carrying the World Cup.
In both hands.
Kane stared.
"You brought it down?"
Francesco looked at him.
"Obviously."
Henderson laughed.
"Where was it all night?"
Francesco continued walking toward them.
"Beside my bed."
Rooney raised an eyebrow.
"You actually slept with it next to you?"
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
Sterling started laughing.
"You're obsessed!"
Francesco laughed.
"After waiting my entire life to hold it, I'm not putting it down yet."
Pickford pointed toward the trophy.
"Mate, it's been about twelve hours."
"Exactly."
That sent the group into another round of laughter.
Kane walked closer and looked at Francesco.
"You really didn't let that thing out of your sight?"
"No."
"Not even while you slept?"
"No."
Rooney shook his head.
"That's brilliant."
Francesco smiled.
He looked down at the trophy.
"I just wanted it there."
Nobody really argued with that.
They understood.
The players had spent weeks chasing this moment.
Now they were leaving Russia with the trophy.
Of course Francesco didn't want to let it go.
The rest of the delegation gradually arrived.
Families gathered in the lobby.
FA staff checked passports, luggage and schedules.
Team personnel moved between groups, making sure everything was ready for the journey.
There was a strange mixture of organization and celebration.
People were trying to be professional.
But every few minutes somebody would look at the trophy and smile.
Eventually Southgate appeared with his coaching staff.
He looked tired.
Very tired.
But he was smiling.
He greeted the players one by one.
"Morning, lads."
"Morning, boss."
Southgate looked toward Francesco.
Then toward the trophy.
He laughed.
"You've still got it."
Francesco smiled.
"Of course."
Southgate shook his head.
"Fair enough."
They began making their way outside.
The morning air was cooler than Francesco expected.
The team bus waited nearby.
Its doors were open.
FA personnel were already loading luggage.
Francesco climbed aboard with the trophy still firmly in his hands.
He found his seat among his teammates and carefully placed the trophy where he could keep an eye on it.
Kane sat nearby.
"You know we're going to have to give that back eventually."
Francesco looked at him.
"Eventually."
"When?"
"I haven't decided."
Kane laughed.
The bus slowly filled.
Players settled into their seats.
Some pulled out their phones.
Others compared photographs from the night before.
Henderson showed Rooney a photograph of them holding the trophy.
Rooney laughed.
"That picture is going everywhere."
"Absolutely."
Sterling was scrolling through his own phone.
"Look at this one."
Alli leaned over.
"Oh, that's terrible."
"It's brilliant."
"You look insane."
Sterling laughed.
"I was celebrating."
"You were dancing."
"Exactly."
Across the aisle, Pickford was admiring his Golden Glove.
Maguire leaned over.
"Still showing that thing off?"
Pickford smiled.
"Every chance I get."
The bus erupted into another chant when someone suddenly shouted:
"It's coming home!"
The entire squad joined in.
The song filled the bus.
Even the staff laughed.
Then the vehicle began moving.
Moscow slowly passed beyond the windows.
Buildings.
Roads.
Traffic.
Morning pedestrians.
The city looked almost ordinary.
And yet, inside that bus, nothing was ordinary.
England were travelling through Moscow as world champions.
Francesco looked through the window.
Russia had been the setting for the greatest tournament of his life.
And now the adventure was ending.
He glanced down at the trophy.
It was still there.
Still real.
He smiled.
At the airport, the delegation moved through the necessary procedures.
FA staff guided the players through security and boarding arrangements.
Luggage was checked.
Documents were handled.
Officials spoke quietly with the team.
The players remained together as much as possible.
Even during the more routine parts of the journey, the mood never completely disappeared.
There was always laughter.
Someone was always telling another story.
Someone was always showing another photograph.
And every few minutes, Francesco would be asked to bring out the trophy.
Eventually, the England delegation reached the aircraft.
The players boarded.
Francesco carried the World Cup carefully up the steps.
Inside, the squad settled into their seats.
Southgate and the coaching staff took their places nearby.
The doors closed.
The aircraft prepared for departure.
For a brief moment, everyone seemed ready to sleep.
That lasted perhaps thirty seconds.
Then Kane stood up.
"Right."
Everyone looked at him.
He raised his gold medal.
"To World Champions."
The players immediately responded.
"To World Champions!"
The cabin filled with laughter and applause.
Food and drinks began being passed around.
Phones came out again.
The final was replayed.
The celebrations were replayed.
Photographs from the podium appeared on screens.
Francesco's hat-trick was discussed for what felt like the hundredth time.
Nobody cared.
They still wanted to talk about it.
The first goal.
The second.
The third.
Croatia's response.
England's defensive work.
Pickford's saves.
Southgate's decisions.
The final whistle.
The trophy lift.
Every moment seemed worth remembering.
At one point Francesco was sitting quietly when Kane reached across.
"Give it here."
Francesco laughed.
"The trophy?"
"Yeah."
He carefully handed it over.
Kane held it against his chest.
For a few seconds, he simply stared.
His expression changed.
The joking disappeared.
"It's actually ours."
Francesco smiled.
"Yeah."
Kane nodded.
Then he passed it to Henderson.
Henderson held it carefully.
He looked at the engraving.
Then smiled.
Rooney took his turn.
Then Sterling.
Then Pickford.
Pickford lifted it above his head from his seat.
The cabin erupted.
Maguire took it next.
Stones followed.
Walker.
Rose.
Trippier.
One after another, the trophy travelled through the squad.
Each player handled it differently.
Some laughed.
Some kissed it.
Some simply stared at it.
But every one of them treated it with the same mixture of pride and disbelief.
Eventually it returned to Francesco.
He held it against his chest.
Kane looked over.
"Happy?"
Francesco nodded.
"Very."
Southgate watched from a few seats away.
He smiled.
He had spent the tournament trying to keep his players focused.
Now there was no reason to stop them celebrating.
They had earned it.
The aircraft continued across Europe.
The mood remained warm and relaxed.
Photographs were taken throughout the flight.
Players gathered around the trophy whenever someone raised it for another picture.
Gold medals remained around their necks.
Individual awards were carefully kept close.
Francesco's Golden Boot.
His Golden Ball.
His Young Player Award.
His Man of the Match trophy.
Pickford's Golden Glove.
The flight became its own little celebration.
At one point Southgate joined a group of players.
Kane looked at him.
"Ready for London?"
Southgate smiled.
"I think London is ready for you."
The players laughed.
Southgate looked around the cabin.
"Enjoy this while you can."
Francesco looked at him.
"Why?"
"Because when we land, you're going to discover just how many people have been waiting for you."
That quieted the group for a moment.
They all knew what he meant.
Millions of people had watched them win.
Millions had celebrated.
And now they were coming home.
Several hours later, the aircraft began its descent.
The atmosphere changed almost immediately.
Players who had been relaxed suddenly began looking toward the windows.
Someone pointed.
"England."
Francesco leaned toward the window.
Below them, familiar landscapes began appearing.
The aircraft continued descending.
The further they travelled, the more real it became.
They were home.
Kane looked around the cabin.
"Here we go."
Henderson smiled.
Nobody needed to say anything else.
The Russian adventure was over.
But the story wasn't.
They weren't simply returning from a football tournament.
They were returning as world champions.
The aircraft touched down.
The players applauded.
Some laughed.
Others simply stared through the windows.
The plane taxied toward the waiting area.
Outside, airport officials and FA representatives had gathered.
Media crews were already positioned nearby.
Photographers waited with cameras ready.
The atmosphere was completely different from the quiet arrival they had experienced in Russia.
This was home.
Southgate stood first.
He adjusted his jacket.
Then he turned toward the players.
"Come on."
The coaching staff followed him toward the exit.
The players gathered behind.
One by one, they began leaving the aircraft.
Southgate stepped onto the stairs first.
Then members of the coaching staff.
Then the players.
Kane appeared.
Henderson.
Rooney.
Sterling.
Alli.
Pickford.
Maguire.
Stones.
Walker.
Rose.
Trippier.
The returning champions.
The cameras began flashing.
Then Francesco appeared at the aircraft doorway.
For a moment, he stopped.
The World Cup was held securely in both hands.
He looked down.
England soil.
Home.
After everything that had happened in Russia, he was standing here with the trophy they had fought for.
Behind him, his teammates waited.
Below him, cameras were pointed directly toward the stairs.
Airport officials were applauding.
FA staff smiled.
Media crews began calling out.
"Francesco!"
"Over here!"
"Captain!"
He looked across the crowd.
Then down at the trophy.
His expression softened.
He took one step forward.
Then another.
And stopped near the top of the staircase.
For several seconds, he simply stood there.
Nobody rushed him.
Nobody needed to.
The moment belonged to him.
And to everyone watching.
Francesco slowly lifted the World Cup.
Higher.
Higher still.
Until it was held proudly above his head.
The reaction was immediate.
Camera shutters erupted.
Dozens of flashes burst around him.
Airport officials applauded.
Media crews surged forward as far as they were permitted.
People cheered.
Francesco smiled broadly.
The trophy caught the daylight.
Behind him, Kane appeared at the doorway.
He started applauding.
Henderson joined him.
Then Rooney.
Then Sterling.
Soon the entire group behind Francesco was cheering.
Francesco looked back briefly.
His teammates were smiling.
His medal was still around his neck.
The captain's armband remained around his arm.
And in his hands was the World Cup.
He turned back toward the cameras.
Raised it once more.
Another explosion of flashes.
For fifty-two years, England had waited for this sight.
Now it was happening on home ground.
The players gathered near the aircraft entrance.
They looked exhausted.
Their eyes were heavy.
Their clothes were slightly creased after the flight.
But none of that mattered.
They were smiling.
They were proud.
They had crossed continents carrying the greatest prize in football.
And as Francesco stood at the top of the stairs, holding the trophy above his head while his teammates applauded behind him, the meaning of the journey finally seemed to settle.
The World Cup trophy remained above Francesco's head for several seconds.
He could hear the cameras.
The shouting.
The applause.
But beneath all of it was something quieter.
The feeling of standing on English soil again.
He slowly lowered the trophy to his chest.
Kane was still smiling behind him.
"Welcome home, captain."
Francesco laughed.
"Feels good."
He stepped down the mobile staircase, carrying the trophy carefully in both hands.
The rest of the squad followed.
Southgate came down a few steps behind the players, still looking slightly overwhelmed by the reception. The coaching staff followed him, exchanging smiles with FA officials who were waiting on the ground.
An FA photographer immediately approached.
"Everyone together, please."
The players looked at one another.
Kane pointed toward the trophy.
"Where do we put this?"
The photographer laughed.
"Right in the middle."
Francesco stood at the centre.
He held the World Cup securely against his body.
Southgate stood beside him.
Kane and Henderson took positions nearby, with Rooney, Sterling, Alli, Pickford, Maguire, Stones, Walker, Rose, Trippier and the rest of the squad forming rows around them.
The coaching staff stood behind.
Several FA officials gathered at the edge of the group.
For a moment, everyone became still.
The joking stopped.
The smiles remained.
The photographer raised his camera.
"Ready?"
Francesco looked down at the trophy.
Then toward his teammates.
"Ready."
The camera flashed.
One photograph.
Then another.
And another.
The official group photograph captured everything.
The World Cup at the centre.
The England captain holding it.
Southgate standing proudly beside his players.
The squad gathered around one another.
Gold medals.
Tired faces.
Broad smiles.
The image would travel everywhere before the day was over.
It was the first official photograph of England's world champions on home soil.
When the photographer finally lowered his camera, the players immediately relaxed again.
Sterling put an arm around Alli.
Pickford lifted his Golden Glove.
Rooney laughed.
Kane clapped Henderson on the shoulder.
Francesco looked at the trophy and smiled.
The FA staff began directing everyone toward the waiting buses.
There were still official schedules to follow.
There would be receptions.
Speeches.
More photographs.
More handshakes.
But none of the players seemed bothered.
They were home.
That was enough.
The team bus waited beyond the airport security area.
Francesco boarded first with the World Cup.
He carried it down the aisle before carefully taking his seat.
Kane followed.
"Still holding it?"
Francesco looked up.
"Wouldn't you?"
Kane considered that.
"Fair point."
The bus filled quickly.
Southgate and the coaching staff took their places toward the front while the players settled around one another.
The doors closed.
The engine started.
And then the bus began moving.
London waited outside.
At first, the roads around the airport were relatively quiet.
Then they began seeing them.
Flags.
People standing along the pavements.
England shirts.
Cars with England flags hanging from their windows.
As the bus moved closer toward central London, the crowds grew.
Francesco looked through the window.
There were people everywhere.
Families.
Children.
Older supporters.
Some had painted their faces.
Others waved flags above their heads.
Many held signs.
The bus slowed.
The cheers became louder.
A group of children jumped up and down when they saw the England crest.
Francesco smiled and waved.
The children screamed.
Kane stood beside him.
"Look at that."
Francesco nodded.
"I know."
Another street appeared.
More supporters.
More flags.
Someone had climbed onto a balcony with an enormous England banner.
The players pressed closer to the windows.
Phones appeared.
Photographs were taken.
Even Southgate turned around to look.
The manager smiled.
"They've been waiting for this."
Nobody answered.
They didn't need to.
The realization was settling into all of them.
They hadn't simply returned from Russia.
They had returned as world champions.
The journey through London became slower as the crowds thickened.
The players saw people cheering from office windows.
Flags hung from buildings.
Cars honked as the bus passed.
Supporters chanted whenever they recognized the team.
And whenever the players waved back, the response became louder.
Francesco eventually lifted the World Cup so that it could be seen through the window.
The reaction was enormous.
Kane laughed.
"Mate, they're going crazy."
Francesco lowered it.
Then raised it again.
Another wave of cheering rolled down the street.
The bus continued toward Buckingham Palace.
Nobody wanted the journey to end.
Yet there was something fitting about where they were going.
The tournament had begun with England dreaming.
Now they were heading toward the Palace with the World Cup in their possession.
The bus finally approached Buckingham Palace.
The atmosphere outside was different from the wild scenes around the city.
More formal.
More controlled.
But still unmistakably celebratory.
Flags flew.
Officials stood waiting.
The palace gates and surrounding streets were lined with people hoping to catch a glimpse of the returning champions.
The bus came to a stop.
The players gathered themselves.
Southgate stood.
"All right, lads."
Everyone looked toward him.
"Let's go."
The doors opened.
Southgate stepped down first.
The coaching staff followed.
Then the players.
Francesco emerged with the World Cup held carefully in both hands.
Applause greeted him immediately.
Waiting near the entrance was British Prime Minister Theresa May.
She smiled as Southgate approached.
"Gareth, congratulations."
"Thank you, Prime Minister."
May shook his hand warmly.
"You've done something extraordinary."
Southgate smiled.
"The players did."
She turned toward the squad.
"Well, congratulations to all of you."
Kane stepped forward.
"Thank you."
May congratulated him before moving along the line.
Henderson.
Rooney.
Sterling.
Alli.
Pickford.
Maguire.
Stones.
Walker.
Rose.
Trippier.
And the rest of the squad.
Every player received a handshake and congratulations.
Then May reached Francesco.
For a moment, her eyes went directly to the trophy.
Then she looked at him.
"Congratulations, captain."
Francesco smiled.
"Thank you."
"You've brought it home."
He glanced down at the World Cup.
"We all did."
May smiled.
"That's very modest of you."
Francesco laughed softly.
She congratulated him once more before welcoming him inside.
The delegation entered Buckingham Palace.
The change in atmosphere was immediate.
The players had spent hours singing, laughing and waving to crowds.
Now they were walking through one of the most formal buildings in the country.
The polished floors.
The grand rooms.
The portraits.
The chandeliers.
Everything seemed almost impossibly elegant.
Yet the players still looked like footballers who had only just returned from winning a World Cup.
Some were still carrying their medals.
Some still had tired eyes.
Sterling quietly whispered something to Alli.
Alli tried not to laugh.
Kane glanced toward them.
"Behave."
That only made them grin.
Francesco walked beside Southgate, the World Cup still in his hands.
He could feel the weight of it.
Not physically.
Something greater.
Fifty-two years.
Generations had waited for this trophy to return.
And now it was walking through Buckingham Palace.
The doors to the reception room opened.
The Royal Family was waiting.
Queen Elizabeth II stood at the centre of the room.
Members of the Royal Family stood nearby.
The players immediately became more composed.
The joking quietened.
Everyone straightened.
Southgate approached first.
The Queen smiled warmly.
"Congratulations, Mr Southgate."
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
She shook his hand.
"It was quite a match."
Southgate smiled.
"It certainly was."
The Queen then began greeting the players.
One by one.
Kane approached.
"Congratulations."
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
Henderson followed.
Then Rooney.
Sterling.
Alli.
Pickford.
Maguire.
Stones.
Walker.
Rose.
Trippier.
Each received a warm handshake and a few brief words.
The atmosphere gradually became more relaxed.
Pickford smiled when the Queen congratulated him on his goalkeeping performance.
Rooney exchanged a few words with her before stepping aside with a grin.
Sterling looked slightly nervous at first, but soon relaxed.
The Queen spoke with Southgate again, congratulating him on the way he had guided the squad through the tournament.
Southgate thanked her.
Then Francesco stepped forward.
He had been standing slightly behind the others, still holding the trophy.
The Queen looked at him.
Her expression softened.
"Captain."
Francesco smiled.
"Your Majesty."
She extended her hand.
Francesco shook it respectfully.
"Congratulations on leading England to victory."
"Thank you very much."
The Queen glanced toward the World Cup.
"And three goals in the final."
Francesco gave a small, almost embarrassed laugh.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"That must have been quite a night."
"It was."
She smiled.
"I understand you are rather young to be carrying all this responsibility."
Francesco looked down briefly.
"I had a very good team around me."
The Queen nodded.
"And that is important."
She looked toward the squad.
"They seem very fond of you."
Francesco turned toward his teammates.
Kane was already smiling.
"They're my family."
The Queen smiled.
"That is wonderful."
Francesco looked back at her.
"Thank you for welcoming us home."
The Queen held his hand for another moment.
"It is England that should be thanking you."
Francesco smiled.
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
He stepped aside.
The World Cup remained visible between them.
It was impossible to ignore.
The trophy had become the centre of the room.
Members of the Royal Family gathered around it.
Photographers were invited forward.
Francesco stood beside Southgate.
Kane joined them.
Henderson stepped closer.
Soon the whole squad gathered again.
The formal photograph became another relaxed celebration.
Players stood shoulder to shoulder.
Some had their arms around teammates.
Southgate stood proudly in the middle.
Francesco held the World Cup.
The Queen and members of the Royal Family stood nearby.
Camera shutters clicked repeatedly.
One photograph captured the Queen smiling beside the trophy.
Another showed her with Southgate.
Then another with the entire squad.
At one point Kane leaned toward Francesco.
"Never thought we'd be standing here."
Francesco smiled.
"Neither did I."
Henderson overheard.
"You'd better get used to it."
Rooney laughed.
"Yeah. We're going to be looking at this picture for the rest of our lives."
The players laughed quietly.
The Queen smiled at the sound.
Even within the formality of the palace, the warmth of the occasion was impossible to hide.
Conversation continued around the room.
The final was discussed.
Croatia's strength.
England's response.
The travelling supporters.
The atmosphere in Russia.
Southgate spoke about the squad's unity.
The players spoke about their teammates.
Francesco was congratulated repeatedly, but each time he redirected the praise.
"It was everyone."
That became almost his standard answer.
Southgate heard it and smiled.
He knew exactly why Francesco kept saying it.
Because that was how the young captain saw the tournament.
Not as his hat-trick.
Not as his Golden Boot.
Not as his Golden Ball.
Not even as his own moment of history.
It belonged to England.
The Queen eventually returned her attention to Francesco.
"I imagine the supporters will be very pleased to have you home."
Francesco smiled.
"They've been incredible."
"I've heard."
She looked toward the trophy again.
"And now it is finally here."
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
There was a brief silence.
Then he smiled.
"It's home."
The Queen returned his smile.
"Yes."
Around them, the players stood proudly.
Their medals caught the light.
The coaching staff watched their squad with exhausted smiles.
The World Cup remained at the centre of the room.
Outside, London continued celebrating.
Crowds waited beyond the palace.
Flags moved in the summer air.
People watched television coverage of the returning champions.
But inside Buckingham Palace, everything had become quieter.
More personal.
The players had left Russia as champions.
They had crossed the skies carrying the trophy they had fought for.
They had landed on English soil to cheers.
They had travelled through streets filled with supporters.
And now they stood inside Buckingham Palace being welcomed by the Royal Family.
Fifty-two years after 1966, the wait was no longer something England talked about.
It was history.
Francesco looked around the room.
He saw Kane.
Henderson.
Rooney.
Sterling.
Alli.
Pickford.
Maguire.
Stones.
Walker.
Rose.
Trippier.
Southgate.
The coaching staff.
The World Cup.
He took a quiet breath.
Only yesterday, they had been in Luzhniki.
Now they were standing in Buckingham Palace.
It felt impossible.
But the trophy in Francesco's hands made it real.
He looked down at it.
Then toward his teammates.
Kane caught his eye.
He smiled.
Francesco smiled back.
No words were necessary.
They had brought it home.
And for the first time in fifty-two years, England could look at the World Cup and know that it truly belonged to them again.
__________________________________________________
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, FA Cup 2016/2017, 2016/2017 Champions League, 2017/2018 Carabao Cup, Premier League 2017/2018, FA Cup 2017/2018, Champions League 2017/2018, and 2018 World Cup.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 59
Goal: 76
Assist: 6
MOTM: 7
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 11
Goal: 14
Assist: 1
MOTM: 7
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