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The next night would decide whether Arsenal's magnificent performance in North London became merely a memorable first leg or the foundation of a place in the UEFA Champions League semi-finals.
The following afternoon arrived with a quiet sense of purpose.
There were no nervous conversations over breakfast.
No exaggerated confidence either.
Just routine.
Players drifted into the hotel dining room in small groups, helping themselves to fruit, eggs, porridge and toast while the coaching staff moved between tables, making sure everyone ate enough without overindulging.
Francesco sat beside Özil and Kanté.
The three exchanged only the occasional sentence.
At this stage, there was very little left to discuss.
Every tactical point had already been covered.
Every scenario had already been rehearsed.
Now it simply came down to ninety minutes of football.
After breakfast, several players spent time in the hotel gym exactly as Wenger had instructed.
Light cycling.
Mobility exercises.
Stretching.
Nothing more.
Walker walked past the rack of heavy dumbbells, stared at them for a second and dramatically sighed.
"They're calling my name."
Robertson, who was rolling his calves with a foam roller nearby, didn't even bother looking up.
"They're really not."
"The boss specifically looked at me yesterday."
"Because he knows you."
Walker placed a hand over his heart.
"I have never caused problems."
Ramsey burst into laughter from the exercise bike.
"I've known you for years."
"That's simply not true."
Even the physiotherapists couldn't help smiling.
The light-hearted moments kept everyone relaxed.
Exactly as Wenger wanted.
By early evening, the squad returned to their rooms to change into their travel suits before gathering once more in the hotel lobby.
Outside, the team coach waited beneath a cloudy Manchester sky.
Supporters had already gathered behind the barriers.
Some wore Arsenal shirts.
Others simply hoped to catch a glimpse of the players arriving.
As Francesco stepped onto the coach, he glanced towards the crowd.
Several young supporters shouted his name.
He smiled and raised a hand.
The applause followed the team bus all the way out of the hotel entrance.
The journey to the Etihad Stadium wasn't particularly long.
Inside the coach, the atmosphere was noticeably quieter than the previous day.
Music played softly through headphones.
Some players stared out of the windows.
Others simply closed their eyes.
Nobody wanted unnecessary distractions.
Soon the unmistakable shape of the Etihad appeared beyond the surrounding buildings.
Its steel framework stood proudly against the grey afternoon sky.
As the bus turned into the secure entrance, television cameras immediately followed its arrival.
Stewards guided the coach beneath the covered players' entrance.
Manchester City's blue banners decorated every wall.
Large Champions League branding covered the tunnel leading inside.
The home supporters waiting outside applauded loudly as City's own team coach arrived moments later.
The knockout atmosphere had well and truly arrived.
One by one, Arsenal's players stepped off the coach.
Equipment staff unloaded bags while security escorted everyone into the stadium.
Francesco took a slow look around.
Every Champions League away ground carried its own personality.
The Etihad felt modern.
Sharp.
Almost clinical.
Yet beneath that polished appearance lay forty-eight thousand supporters desperate to witness an impossible comeback.
Inside the away dressing room, every shirt already hung neatly inside its locker.
Boots had been arranged perfectly beneath each seat.
Training kits waited folded beside them.
The Champions League logo embroidered onto each shirt reminded everyone how close they were to the final four.
Francesco changed quietly into his training kit before tying his boots.
Around him, conversations remained relaxed.
Walker looked around the dressing room.
"I still prefer ours."
Robertson smirked.
"Bit biased."
"Very."
Giroud adjusted his socks before grinning.
"I quite like winning here."
"We haven't started yet," Xhaka reminded him.
"Details."
The room filled with quiet laughter.
Soon Steve Bould appeared at the doorway.
"Five minutes."
The players stood almost simultaneously.
Francesco picked up his training top before following the rest of the squad through the tunnel.
The moment they stepped onto the Etihad pitch, the noise changed completely.
Thousands of supporters were already inside despite kick-off still being some time away.
The giant Champions League starball covered the centre circle while television crews prepared for the evening broadcast.
Arsenal's players spread across the pitch.
The warm-up began exactly as it always did.
Gentle jogging.
Dynamic stretches.
Passing triangles.
Movement drills.
Nothing spectacular.
Everything deliberate.
Francesco exchanged quick passes with Özil and Alexis while Wenger watched quietly from the technical area.
On the opposite half, Manchester City's players were completing their own preparations.
Jesus finished sharply into the corners during shooting practice.
Sterling's acceleration looked as dangerous as ever.
Kevin De Bruyne repeatedly struck long diagonal passes with frightening accuracy.
Even during warm-ups, his technique was remarkable.
Kanté jogged alongside Francesco.
"They're sharp."
Francesco nodded.
"So are we."
The shooting drills followed.
Čech immediately became busy facing efforts from Giroud, Ramsey and Saka.
Every save earned applause from the travelling Arsenal supporters high above the corner of the stadium.
Walker finally beat Robertson during one sprint.
He immediately celebrated by raising both arms.
"I've done it!"
Robertson shook his head.
"It only took three days."
The laughter helped release the final traces of tension.
After almost half an hour, the coaching staff blew their whistles.
Warm-up complete.
The players applauded the travelling supporters before disappearing back through the tunnel.
Inside the dressing room, the atmosphere changed instantly.
The jokes faded.
Training tops disappeared.
Match shirts replaced them.
One by one, Arsenal transformed from a relaxed group of teammates into a side preparing for one of the biggest matches of the season.
Francesco pulled on the captain's armband before tightening the laces on his boots.
Around the room, the familiar sounds echoed.
Tape being wrapped around ankles.
Velcro straps fastening shin pads.
Boot studs clicking against the tiled floor.
Then Wenger stood.
The room became completely silent.
He looked around every player before speaking.
"The starting eleven remains unchanged."
No one seemed surprised.
It was exactly what everyone had expected.
"Peter."
"Laurent."
"Virgil."
"Andrew."
"Kyle."
"N'Golo."
"Granit."
"Mesut."
"Alexis."
"Serge."
"Francesco."
He allowed the names to settle.
"The trust I placed in you during the first leg remains exactly the same."
Then Steve Bould placed a tactical board at the front.
Wenger pointed towards Manchester City's magnets.
"Pep has also named a strong side."
He listed each player carefully.
"Ederson in goal."
"Otamendi."
"Laporte."
"Kompany."
"Fernandinho."
"David Silva."
"Bernardo Silva."
"Kevin De Bruyne."
"Leroy Sané."
"Gabriel Jesus."
"Raheem Sterling."
Several players studied the board.
"They'll attack immediately," Wenger continued.
"They have no choice."
"They need goals."
"They'll commit numbers forward."
He looked directly at Xhaka and Kanté.
"Control the midfield when we have possession."
Then towards the back four.
"Stay compact."
"No unnecessary gaps."
Finally his eyes rested on Francesco, Özil, Alexis and Gnabry.
"The opportunities will come."
"Not because they allow them."
"Because they have to chase the game."
He paused.
"But remember something."
"We are not here simply to survive."
A few heads lifted.
"We defended brilliantly in London."
"Tonight…"
"…when the moment comes…"
"…we attack."
Francesco nodded slowly.
Every player understood.
Protecting a four-goal lead didn't mean abandoning their identity forever.
It meant recognising the right moments.
Wenger clapped his hands once.
"Let's finish this."
The referee knocked gently on the dressing-room door.
"Five minutes."
Immediately everyone stood.
The final preparations were complete.
Francesco led the team towards the tunnel.
The noise outside grew louder with every step.
Inside the tunnel, Manchester City's players were already waiting.
Blue shirts stood opposite Arsenal's red and white.
Sterling exchanged a brief nod with Walker.
De Bruyne offered Özil a quiet handshake.
Kompany walked towards Francesco.
"Ready?"
Francesco smiled.
"Always."
The Belgian captain smiled back.
"Good luck."
"You too."
The referee checked both captains before signalling everyone forward.
The tunnel opened.
Suddenly brilliant floodlights flooded their vision.
The roar of the Etihad crashed over both teams as they emerged onto the pitch.
The Champions League music echoed around every corner of the stadium.
Thousands of blue and white cards formed a huge mosaic behind one goal.
High above them, Arsenal's travelling supporters answered with chants of their own.
Francesco looked around for a second.
These were the nights every footballer dreamed about as a child.
The players lined up beside the refereeing team.
Then, as always, the famous Champions League anthem began.
Nobody spoke.
Even the supporters seemed quieter during those unforgettable moments.
When the anthem ended, both teams shook hands with the officials before greeting each opponent in turn.
"Good luck."
"Good match."
"All the best."
The photographers moved quickly.
Both starting elevens stood together.
Flash after flash illuminated the pitch before everyone dispersed into their positions.
Francesco and Kompany walked towards the centre circle with the referee.
The official held the coin between his fingers.
"Heads or tails?"
Kompany answered immediately.
"Right."
The coin spun into the air before landing in the referee's palm.
The referee nodded.
"Manchester City."
Kompany pointed towards the direction his side wished to attack.
City would kick off.
Francesco jogged back towards Arsenal's half.
He glanced at his teammates one final time.
Everyone looked ready.
The whistle blew.
Immediately Manchester City surged forward exactly as Wenger had predicted.
The pace was relentless.
David Silva drifted between Arsenal's midfield and defence, constantly searching for pockets of space.
De Bruyne sprayed passes from one flank to the other.
Sterling and Sané hugged the touchlines before darting inside.
Jesus continuously moved across the defensive line, trying to drag Van Dijk and Koscielny out of position.
Arsenal, meanwhile, resisted the temptation to press high.
Instead of the flowing attacking football they had produced at the Emirates, they settled into a disciplined defensive shape.
Banks of red shirts remained compact.
Every player tracked runners.
Every challenge mattered.
Whenever possession was won, Arsenal looked immediately for quick counters through Özil and Francesco.
The opening ten minutes belonged almost entirely to City.
Čech denied De Bruyne with a strong save.
Moments later Van Dijk threw himself in front of a Sterling effort.
Walker recovered brilliantly to prevent Sané from racing clear.
The pressure never stopped.
The Etihad crowd sensed belief beginning to grow.
Then, in the fourteenth minute, City finally found their breakthrough.
Sterling accelerated down the right wing after collecting a clever pass from Bernardo Silva.
Robertson matched him stride for stride.
Sterling suddenly shifted the ball inside with a sharp touch before delivering a dangerous low cross across the six-yard box.
Jesus timed his run perfectly.
A single touch.
The ball flew beyond Čech into the roof of the net.
The stadium exploded.
Blue shirts raced towards the corner flag.
Jesus spread his arms in celebration as Sterling embraced him.
One-nil.
Four-one on aggregate.
The noise became deafening.
Francesco gathered his teammates near the centre circle.
"Stay calm."
"They needed that."
Kanté nodded.
"We're still in control."
Nobody panicked.
Exactly as Wenger had demanded.
The restart was patient.
Arsenal slowed the tempo whenever possible.
Short passes replaced rushed clearances.
City continued committing players forward, desperate for another goal before half-time.
Gradually, spaces began to appear.
Özil noticed them first.
Francesco noticed them next.
In the thirty-sixth minute, the opportunity finally arrived.
Kanté intercepted a loose pass from David Silva before immediately finding Xhaka.
One touch.
Xhaka released Özil between City's midfield lines.
The German turned elegantly away from Fernandinho before carrying the ball towards the edge of the penalty area.
Francesco had already begun his run.
Özil waited.
One second.
Then another.
Perfect timing.
His through ball split Otamendi and Laporte with surgical precision.
Francesco burst into the gap, reaching the ball just before Ederson could close him down.
Without hesitation, he opened his body and guided a composed right-footed finish beyond the goalkeeper into the far corner.
Silence.
For barely half a second.
Then the away end erupted.
Francesco spread his arms as his teammates sprinted towards him.
Özil arrived first.
"I told you."
"You always do."
Walker leapt onto the celebration moments later.
"That's more like it!"
The scoreboard changed.
Manchester City 1-1 Arsenal.
Five-one on aggregate.
The home crowd suddenly fell quieter.
Their belief had taken a heavy blow.
The remainder of the first half remained fiercely contested.
City continued attacking, but Arsenal looked increasingly dangerous whenever they broke forward.
Alexis forced Ederson into an excellent save.
Čech denied Jesus again with his feet.
Van Dijk cleared a dangerous corner.
Koscielny produced a perfectly timed tackle on Sterling inside the area.
When the referee finally blew for half-time, both teams walked toward the tunnel knowing there was still plenty left to play.
Inside Arsenal's dressing room, players took long drinks of water as the medical staff moved quickly between them.
Wenger waited until everyone had settled.
His expression was calm.
"We defended well."
He let the words sink in.
"But now they've opened themselves."
He pointed toward the tactical board.
"They're taking bigger risks."
"They'll continue to do so."
His eyes swept across the room.
"So in the second half…"
"…I don't want us sitting deeper and deeper."
A few players leaned forward.
"When we win the ball…"
"…we attack."
"We trust ourselves."
"We make them defend."
He looked directly at Francesco, Özil, Alexis and Gnabry.
"The chances will come again."
"Be brave enough to take them."
No one spoke.
They simply nodded.
The second half awaited.
Then the players rose from their seats together.
There was no dramatic shouting.
No pounding on lockers.
It wasn't needed.
They had already weathered Manchester City's early storm, responded in the best possible way, and reminded themselves that they belonged on this stage.
As Francesco adjusted the captain's armband one more time, Wenger stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Keep leading them."
Francesco nodded.
"I will."
Wenger smiled faintly before addressing the entire room one last time.
"Remember."
"They expect us to protect the lead."
His eyes moved from one player to another.
"So surprise them."
"Go and play."
That simple instruction lingered in everyone's minds as they walked back into the tunnel.
The roar that greeted both teams was just as loud as it had been before kick-off.
The Etihad had sensed a brief spark of hope after Jesus' opener.
Francesco's equaliser had dampened it, but Manchester City's supporters hadn't stopped believing.
They knew their team would continue attacking.
They simply hadn't expected Arsenal to do exactly the same.
The referee glanced at both assistants before raising the whistle.
One sharp blast.
The second half began.
Immediately, Arsenal played with an aggression that hadn't been there during the opening forty-five minutes.
Instead of dropping into two compact defensive banks, they pushed their midfield ten yards higher.
Kanté stepped onto Fernandinho whenever City tried to build from deep.
Xhaka moved closer to De Bruyne, denying the Belgian time to dictate the tempo.
Walker and Robertson advanced further up the flanks whenever possession was secured.
For a few moments, Manchester City looked genuinely surprised.
Pep Guardiola stood immediately from his technical area.
He gestured repeatedly with both hands.
"Higher!"
"Move it quicker!"
His players responded by increasing the tempo even further.
Suddenly the match transformed.
It became exactly what neutral supporters had hoped for.
Attack against attack.
Wave after wave flowing in both directions.
Within three minutes of the restart, Sterling burst into the penalty area before seeing his cut-back intercepted brilliantly by Van Dijk.
Only seconds later Arsenal countered.
Özil floated a pass towards Gnabry, whose first-time cross narrowly escaped Francesco by inches.
The game refused to slow down.
The midfield battle became fascinating.
Kanté seemed to appear everywhere.
One moment he was tackling Jesus near the halfway line.
The next he was helping Robertson double up on Sané.
Then, somehow, he was already supporting another Arsenal attack.
Walker shook his head after one interception.
"I don't know how you do it."
Kanté simply smiled.
"I run."
"You definitely do."
City responded again.
De Bruyne clipped a dangerous ball into the penalty area.
Jesus attempted an acrobatic volley that flew narrowly over Čech's crossbar.
The home crowd responded with loud applause, trying to push their team forward.
Arsenal refused to retreat.
Every successful tackle increased their confidence.
Every completed pass quietened the stadium a little more.
Francesco could sense the spaces becoming larger with every passing minute.
City were committing more and more players into attack.
Exactly as Wenger had predicted.
Then came the moment that effectively ended the contest.
The clock ticked into the fifty-seventh minute.
City had just won possession near Arsenal's penalty area, but Koscielny stepped in brilliantly to dispossess Sterling.
Without hesitation, he fed Kanté.
The French midfielder turned away from pressure before slipping a simple pass towards Xhaka.
The Swiss international lifted his head immediately.
He saw Alexis Sánchez making a perfectly timed diagonal run between Kompany and Otamendi.
No hesitation.
Xhaka drove a magnificent through ball into the open space.
Alexis accelerated onto it with explosive pace.
Ederson rushed from his goal, hoping to narrow the angle.
Too late.
With remarkable composure, Alexis opened his body before calmly guiding a low finish beyond the Brazilian goalkeeper.
The ball rolled into the far corner.
Goal.
For a heartbeat, silence swallowed the Etihad.
Then the away section exploded into celebration.
Alexis sprinted towards the corner flag before sliding across the grass with both arms spread wide.
Francesco reached him first.
"What a run!"
Alexis laughed.
"What a pass."
Xhaka arrived moments later and immediately found himself buried beneath celebrating teammates.
Walker pointed towards the Swiss midfielder.
"That's the Granit I like!"
Even the usually reserved Xhaka couldn't hide his grin.
The scoreboard changed once again.
Manchester City 1-2 Arsenal.
Aggregate: 6-1.
Across the technical area, Wenger remained calm.
He applauded firmly before gesturing for his players to stay focused.
"No complacency!"
"Keep playing!"
On the opposite touchline, Guardiola folded his arms.
His face betrayed very little emotion, but he immediately began considering changes.
City restarted quickly.
To their credit, they refused to surrender.
Sterling continued attacking Robertson.
Sané drove repeatedly at Walker.
De Bruyne searched relentlessly for openings that Arsenal's disciplined defence refused to provide.
Čech remained composed behind them all.
His instructions echoed constantly.
"Step!"
"Hold!"
"Left shoulder!"
Every defender responded immediately.
Van Dijk headed away crosses with complete authority.
Koscielny anticipated runs before they even developed.
The partnership looked almost impossible to break.
The match entered its final twenty-five minutes.
Wenger glanced towards his bench.
He had seen enough.
The intensity of recent weeks had been enormous.
With the tie almost secured, it was the perfect opportunity to protect several key players.
The fourth official prepared the electronic substitution board.
The numbers appeared.
Francesco.
Özil.
Alexis Sánchez.
A standing ovation came from the travelling Arsenal supporters.
Francesco applauded every corner of the away end as he jogged towards the touchline.
Beside him, Özil acknowledged the fans with his usual understated wave.
Alexis clapped continuously as chants of his name echoed around the stadium.
Coming on were fresh legs.
Giroud.
Cazorla.
Iwobi.
Wenger greeted each substituted player personally.
He shook Francesco's hand firmly.
"Excellent captain."
Francesco smiled.
"The lads have done brilliantly."
"They're not finished yet."
"We'll finish it."
Wenger nodded.
"I know."
At almost the same moment, Guardiola made his own changes.
David Silva and Bernardo Silva were withdrawn.
In their place came Sergio Agüero and İlkay Gündoğan.
The Etihad responded with fresh encouragement.
Guardiola was making one final push.
An extra striker.
Another creative midfielder.
Nothing to lose.
As play resumed, City's shape became even more adventurous.
Agüero immediately occupied the space between Van Dijk and Koscielny.
Jesus drifted wider.
Sterling and Sané remained aggressive.
The game opened up once more.
From the bench, Francesco sat beside Wenger, wrapped in a training jacket.
He watched every movement carefully.
"It's becoming stretched."
Wenger nodded.
"Exactly what suits us."
Cazorla immediately justified his introduction.
His calmness on the ball slowed City's momentum whenever Arsenal needed a breather.
Every touch seemed effortless.
Iwobi's energy down the left caused fresh problems for Kyle Walker's former club.
Giroud battled tirelessly against Kompany and Laporte, winning aerial duels that allowed Arsenal to move higher up the pitch.
The experienced French striker looked determined to leave his mark.
Walker leaned towards the bench during a brief stoppage.
"He wants one."
Francesco laughed.
"He always wants one."
City continued pushing.
Agüero forced Čech into a strong save from the edge of the penalty area.
Moments later De Bruyne curled a free-kick narrowly over the crossbar.
The home supporters applauded every attack, refusing to abandon hope despite the aggregate scoreline.
Arsenal remained patient.
Disciplined.
Every successful defensive action brought another opportunity to counter.
Then, in the eighty-first minute, they struck again.
The move began deep inside Arsenal's own half.
Kanté recovered possession once more before calmly finding Cazorla.
The Spaniard turned gracefully away from Gündoğan, shielding the ball with remarkable balance.
He spotted Iwobi racing into space down the left.
The pass arrived perfectly.
Iwobi attacked Laporte directly.
The young winger slowed for a split second, tempting the defender forward before accelerating past him on the outside.
The away supporters rose in anticipation.
Giroud was already charging towards the penalty area.
Otamendi followed him.
Kompany tracked the near post.
Iwobi glanced up once.
He didn't panic.
Instead of shooting from a difficult angle, he whipped a brilliant cross towards the centre.
Giroud attacked it with everything he had.
Leaping between both centre-backs, he met the cross with a thunderous header.
Ederson reacted instinctively.
His fingertips brushed the ball.
Not enough.
The header powered into the roof of the net.
Goal.
Giroud landed before immediately wheeling away with both fists clenched.
"Yes!"
He sprinted towards the Arsenal supporters, roaring in celebration.
Iwobi caught him first, laughing as Giroud embraced him tightly.
"I told you I'd score!"
Iwobi grinned.
"You tell everyone that."
"And sometimes I'm right!"
The rest of the team arrived seconds later.
Even Wenger allowed himself a broad smile.
The scoreboard updated once more.
Manchester City 1-3 Arsenal.
Aggregate: 7-1.
Walker looked towards Robertson.
"He'll never stop talking now."
Robertson sighed dramatically.
"We've created a monster."
The substitutes on Arsenal's bench erupted into laughter.
Giroud pointed playfully towards them while jogging back for the restart.
"I heard that!"
"You were supposed to!"
The remaining minutes passed with an almost surreal feeling.
Manchester City's players continued competing professionally.
There was no lack of effort.
No lack of pride.
But Arsenal had complete control.
Cazorla dictated possession with his trademark elegance.
Kanté intercepted everything that entered midfield.
Van Dijk won another towering header against Agüero.
Čech confidently claimed every cross that entered his penalty area.
Every passing minute brought louder chants from the away end.
"We're on our way…"
"We're on our way…"
"To the semi-finals…"
Francesco stood near the touchline applauding the supporters.
He wasn't thinking about individual goals anymore.
He wasn't thinking about statistics.
Only about what this team had achieved together.
When the fourth official indicated three minutes of added time, many Arsenal supporters were already embracing one another in the stands.
The players simply kept doing their jobs.
Professional until the very end.
One final City attack broke down as Walker dispossessed Sterling cleanly before rolling the ball safely back to Čech.
The goalkeeper looked towards the referee.
Almost there.
The whistle finally arrived.
A long blast echoed around the Etihad Stadium.
Then another.
Full-time.
Manchester City 1-3 Arsenal.
Arsenal win 7-1 on aggregate.
For a brief second, there was nothing but relief.
Then the celebrations began.
Arsenal's players embraced one another across the pitch.
Van Dijk wrapped Koscielny in a hug.
Kanté smiled as Walker lifted him briefly off the ground despite his protests.
Giroud celebrated with Iwobi again, still insisting his goal had been "unstoppable."
Francesco shook Kompany's hand first.
"Well played."
The City captain nodded respectfully.
"You deserved it."
One by one, Arsenal's players crossed the pitch toward the travelling supporters.
They stood shoulder to shoulder before applauding the thousands who had made the journey from London.
The away end answered with deafening cheers.
Scarves waved high into the Manchester night.
Songs echoed around the stadium long after the final whistle.
High above the pitch, the giant Champions League scoreboard displayed the final verdict.
Manchester City 1-3 Arsenal.
Aggregate: 1-7.
Arsenal were through.
Not by luck.
Not by hanging on desperately.
But by defeating one of Europe's strongest teams home and away with intelligence, discipline and fearless football as the Gunners had booked their place in the UEFA Champions League semi-finals.
______________________________________________
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, 2016/2017 Champions League, and 2017/2018 Carabao Cup.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 49
Goal: 61
Assist: 6
MOTM: 6
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 4
Goal: 4
Assist: 1
MOTM: 2
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