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...
The new season had started with questions about whether they could maintain the hunger that had carried them through the previous campaign.
Then the following morning arrived without the usual urgency.
There was no alarm demanding that Francesco get out of bed for training.
No club car waiting outside.
No timetable pinned to the refrigerator.
After the intensity of Stamford Bridge, Arsenal had been given the day off, and Francesco intended to make the most of it.
He stayed in bed longer than usual, eventually wandering downstairs in comfortable clothes with his hair still untidy. Cheddar was already awake and waiting, following him into the kitchen with the determined expression of a dog who believed breakfast was the most important event of the day.
"Morning," Francesco muttered.
Cheddar answered with a small bark.
"You've already eaten."
Another bark.
Francesco smiled.
"I know what you're doing."
He prepared himself something simple before carrying a drink into the living room.
The television was already running.
Football was everywhere.
The previous afternoon's result had given the broadcasters plenty to discuss.
Clips from Stamford Bridge were being replayed repeatedly.
Francesco's opening goal.
Alexis finishing Özil's pass just before halftime.
Özil's third goal after Walker's clever assist.
Morata's response.
The late pressure from Chelsea.
The analysts debated Arsenal's performance from almost every possible angle.
Some praised Wenger's decision to keep the same starting eleven that had defeated Manchester City.
Others focused on the defensive work after Chelsea pulled the score back to 3–1.
One former player described Arsenal as "still the team everyone wants to catch."
Francesco listened without paying too much attention.
He had already lived through the match.
He knew what it had felt like on the pitch.
The speed.
The pressure.
The moments when Chelsea looked capable of changing everything.
The relief when the final whistle came.
Instead, his attention eventually drifted toward another subject.
The transfer market.
Even with the Premier League already underway, Arsenal's business wasn't necessarily finished.
Francesco had become curious about it over the previous few weeks. The squad was already incredibly strong, but football never really stopped moving. Players came in. Players left. Plans changed.
The television switched to a transfer segment.
Francesco reached for his drink.
Then the presenter said a name that immediately made him sit upright.
"Breaking news from Arsenal this morning concerning Jack Wilshere."
The cup stopped halfway to his mouth.
Francesco stared at the screen.
The presenter continued.
"Arsenal and Jack Wilshere have agreed to part ways, with the midfielder set to leave the club on a free transfer."
For a moment, Francesco didn't process the sentence.
He simply heard the words.
Jack Wilshere.
Leaving Arsenal.
Free transfer.
He lowered the cup onto the table.
"What?"
The report continued.
Images of Wilshere appeared on the screen.
Young Wilshere.
Wilshere in an Arsenal shirt.
Wilshere celebrating goals.
Wilshere walking onto the Emirates pitch.
The presenter explained that after discussions between the player and the club, both sides had agreed that a departure was the right decision.
Francesco leaned forward.
He had expected transfer news.
Perhaps another signing.
Perhaps a loan.
Something ordinary.
Not this.
Jack wasn't just another teammate.
Francesco knew him.
He had trained beside him, spoken with him, watched him battle through difficult periods and seen the quality that remained in his football whenever his body allowed him to play consistently.
The idea of Wilshere leaving Arsenal felt strangely personal.
Francesco reached for his phone.
He didn't hesitate for long.
He found Jack's number.
Pressed call.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then Wilshere answered.
"Hello?"
"Jack?"
"Francesco."
There was a brief pause.
"You've seen it."
Francesco leaned back into the sofa.
"Yeah."
Another pause.
"I wanted to hear it from you."
Wilshere exhaled softly.
"I figured you might call."
"Are you okay?"
"I'm okay."
The answer came quickly, almost automatically.
Francesco knew that tone.
"You don't sound okay."
Wilshere gave a quiet laugh.
"You're nineteen and already talking like an old man."
"I'm serious."
"I know."
The humor disappeared.
For a few seconds, neither spoke.
Then Francesco asked the question he had been thinking since the announcement appeared.
"Why?"
Wilshere didn't immediately answer.
When he finally did, his voice was calm.
"I just don't think I'm contributing enough anymore."
"Jack—"
"Let me finish."
Francesco stopped.
Wilshere continued.
"I love Arsenal. You know that. I don't need to explain what the club means to me."
"I know."
"But I've spent so much of my career trying to get back to where I was."
Francesco listened.
"Injuries keep coming. Every time I start building some rhythm, something happens. Then I have to start again. Rehab. Training. Trying to get fit. Trying to convince myself that the next run will be different."
His voice remained steady.
"But eventually you have to be honest with yourself."
Francesco looked down at his hands.
Wilshere continued.
"I can't contribute the way I want to. Not consistently. And Arsenal are competing for everything now."
"That doesn't mean you don't belong here."
"I know."
"Then don't say it like that."
"I'm not saying I don't belong. I'm saying I don't think I can give the club enough anymore."
That silenced Francesco.
Wilshere breathed out.
"The injuries have taken too much from me, mate."
There was no anger in his voice.
That somehow made it harder to hear.
"I wanted to become the player I knew I could be here. I wanted years of playing regularly, winning things, being important every week. Instead, I've spent too much time trying to get back onto the pitch."
Francesco swallowed.
"You still have football in you."
"I know."
"Then maybe—"
"I thought about it."
Wilshere interrupted gently.
"I've thought about everything. Staying. Leaving. Trying again. Waiting for another opportunity."
He paused.
"But I think moving on is the right thing."
Francesco didn't argue.
He wanted to.
Every instinct told him to tell Jack to stay.
To tell him Arsenal needed him.
That there was still time.
That another season could be different.
But he knew he couldn't promise any of those things.
"You've given a lot to this club," Francesco finally said.
Wilshere laughed quietly.
"That's one way of putting it."
"You know what I mean."
"I do."
They began talking about Arsenal.
Not tactics.
Not transfers.
Not football in the way television analysts discussed it.
They talked about memories.
Training sessions that had gone wrong.
Jokes in the dressing room.
Matches they had watched together.
The strange pressure that came with wearing an Arsenal shirt.
Wilshere spoke about how much he had loved playing at the Emirates.
"There's nothing quite like walking out there," he said.
Francesco smiled.
"No."
"And the fans…"
He paused.
"I'll miss them."
"You'll always be one of them."
"Maybe."
"You are."
Wilshere chuckled.
"You've become very certain of yourself."
"Captain's job."
"Don't blame Wenger for that."
Francesco laughed.
The conversation became easier after that.
For a while, they were simply two footballers talking.
One preparing for the next stage of his career.
The other trying to understand why a friend was leaving.
Eventually, Wilshere became quieter.
"I'll miss the lads."
"Me too."
"And you."
Francesco smiled faintly.
"You're not getting rid of me that easily."
"I was hoping."
"Sorry."
Wilshere laughed.
Then came another pause.
"Thanks for calling."
"Of course."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
Wilshere took a breath.
"Take care of yourself, Francesco."
"You too."
"And keep winning."
Francesco smiled.
"We'll try."
The call ended.
Francesco lowered the phone slowly.
For several minutes he remained where he was.
The television continued in the background, but he wasn't listening anymore.
Wilshere's departure felt different from a normal transfer.
There were no angry comments.
No arguments.
No bitterness.
Just the quiet sadness of accepting that sometimes football forced people to leave places they still loved.
Francesco glanced toward the television.
The news had moved on.
A new graphic appeared.
He expected another discussion about Chelsea.
Instead, the presenter smiled.
"And now, some positive transfer news for Arsenal."
Francesco's attention returned immediately.
The screen showed an unfamiliar young midfielder.
"Arsenal have completed the signing of Matteo Guendouzi from Lorient for a reported €8 million."
Francesco sat forward.
Guendouzi.
The footage showed the French midfielder playing in Ligue 2, carrying the ball through midfield and looking comfortable under pressure.
The presenter explained that Arsenal had moved to secure the young midfielder for €8 million.
Francesco watched closely.
Then another name appeared.
"Arsenal have also completed the free-transfer signing of Stephan Lichtsteiner from Juventus."
This time Francesco smiled.
Lichtsteiner.
Experienced.
Hard-working.
A player who had spent years competing at the highest level.
The television showed clips of him in Juventus colours, overlapping from right-back, delivering crosses and defending aggressively.
Francesco leaned back.
"That's interesting."
Two arrivals.
One young.
One experienced.
And both arriving into a squad that had already started the season strongly.
The contrast with the morning's earlier news was impossible to miss.
Wilshere leaving.
Guendouzi arriving.
Lichtsteiner arriving.
Football moving forward whether anyone was emotionally ready for it or not.
Cheddar wandered over and rested his head against Francesco's leg.
Francesco absent-mindedly scratched behind his ears.
"Busy club," he murmured.
The television continued showing Guendouzi highlights.
Francesco watched more carefully now.
The youngster seemed fearless with the ball.
He liked receiving under pressure.
He carried possession forward.
He wasn't afraid to challenge.
Then came Lichtsteiner.
Different qualities.
Experience.
Physicality.
Tactical discipline.
A player who knew what elite football demanded.
Francesco thought about Wenger.
The manager had spoken repeatedly about maintaining standards, not simply relying on what had already been achieved.
Perhaps this was part of that.
The season had begun.
Arsenal had six points.
They had beaten Manchester City and Chelsea.
Yet Wenger was still looking ahead.
Still planning.
Still thinking about how to strengthen a team that had already won almost everything.
Francesco's phone buzzed.
He glanced down.
A message from Leah.
Leah: How's your day off going?
He smiled.
He typed back.
Francesco: Quiet. Watching football.
A second message appeared almost immediately.
Leah: That's not a surprise.
Francesco laughed.
He put the phone down and returned his attention to the television.
The presenter was now discussing what Guendouzi and Lichtsteiner could offer Arsenal.
Francesco listened, but his mind wandered back to Jack.
The sadness hadn't disappeared.
It probably wouldn't for a while.
But neither did the excitement surrounding the two new arrivals.
That was football.
One chapter could close while another began almost simultaneously.
Arsenal's squad was changing.
Not dramatically.
Not desperately.
But gradually.
And Francesco knew that, sooner or later, he would meet the new players at London Colney, shake their hands, train beside them and begin learning what they could add to the team.
For now, though, he remained at home.
The television murmured in the background.
Cheddar slept beside him.
Outside, the day continued peacefully.
For the first time since Stamford Bridge, Francesco allowed himself to properly relax.
The victory was already becoming yesterday's news.
The next match would come soon enough.
So would the next training session.
And with Wilshere's departure, Guendouzi's arrival from Lorient for €8 million and Lichtsteiner's arrival from Juventus on a free transfer, the Arsenal dressing room would look slightly different when Francesco walked back into it.
The team had started the season strongly.
But the season was already reminding him of something football always demanded.
Nothing stayed exactly the same for long.
Players left.
New players arrived.
Roles changed.
And through all of it, the pursuit continued.
Another Premier League match.
Another challenge.
Another chance for Arsenal to prove that the success of the previous campaign had not satisfied them.
Tomorrow, Arsenal would get back to work.
Then the following morning, London Colney felt familiar again.
The quiet luxury of the day off had disappeared almost immediately, replaced by the ordinary rhythm of an Arsenal training day.
Cars arrived one after another.
Players walked through the training-ground doors carrying boots and kit bags, some still rubbing sleep from their eyes, others already talking about the weekend.
The Stamford Bridge victory was still fresh, but nobody treated it as something that could carry them through the next match by itself.
Wenger had made sure of that.
By the time Francesco stepped onto the training pitch, the squad was already beginning its warm-up.
"Morning, captain," Ramsey called.
Francesco glanced across.
"You're early."
"I've been here longer than you."
"You've been here five minutes."
"Still counts."
Cazorla walked past them, smiling.
"Do not encourage him."
Ramsey pointed at him.
"See? Santi understands leadership."
"Santi understands that you're annoying," Francesco replied.
Cazorla laughed.
"Exactly."
The banter was familiar, but there were small differences around the group now.
Wilshere wasn't there.
His absence wasn't dramatic. There was no empty space deliberately being left untouched.
But Francesco noticed it.
So did everyone else.
Football had already moved on.
And Wenger expected them to move with it.
The first session was physical.
Short acceleration runs.
Changes of direction.
Repeated sprints.
Then work with the ball.
Kanté seemed incapable of conducting anything at half speed, even during a recovery session. He chased down every loose ball as though it were the last minute of a cup final.
"Relax," Xhaka told him after Kanté won another challenge.
Kanté smiled.
"I am relaxed."
"You call that relaxed?"
"Yes."
Xhaka shook his head.
Francesco laughed from nearby.
"Don't argue with him. You'll lose."
Kanté simply smiled again.
The next few days followed a similar pattern.
Fitness work gradually gave way to football.
Wenger rotated the groups constantly, preventing anyone from becoming too comfortable with the same combinations.
Possession exercises occupied one morning.
One-touch football the next.
There were finishing drills, defensive transitions, pressing exercises and small-sided games in which Wenger demanded immediate reactions whenever possession changed hands.
"Again!"
The ball went out.
"Again!"
A misplaced pass.
"Again!"
A slow transition.
Nobody complained.
The intensity remained high.
Francesco found himself spending more time alongside Gnabry, Alexis and Saka during the attacking exercises, while Giroud often worked with the second group before joining the main tactical sessions.
Saka, in particular, seemed determined to make the most of every opportunity.
During one finishing drill, he received the ball from Cazorla and curled a shot toward the far corner.
It struck the post.
Saka groaned.
"That's not fair."
Giroud laughed.
"The post is part of the goal."
"No, it isn't."
"It is when you miss."
Francesco walked past them.
"Stop arguing and score the next one."
Saka looked at him.
"Yes, captain."
The next shot went in.
Saka turned immediately.
"See?"
Francesco raised both hands.
"I didn't say anything."
"You inspired me."
"I'm taking credit, then."
The group laughed.
Yet underneath the jokes, there was a seriousness that had not been present during the previous season.
Not fear.
Expectation.
Arsenal had opened the campaign with victories over Manchester City and Chelsea.
Now every opponent would arrive believing that beating Arsenal would mean something more.
Wenger reminded them of that without making speeches.
At the end of one tactical session, he gathered the players together.
"We have six points," he said simply.
Everyone listened.
"That is good. But it is six points. Nothing more."
His eyes moved across the squad.
"The next match begins at zero."
Francesco nodded.
He understood exactly what his manager meant.
By the time Saturday arrived, the Emirates was ready.
West Ham United were coming to North London.
The stadium began filling hours before kickoff.
Red and white scarves appeared throughout the stands, while the noise outside gradually grew louder.
Inside the Arsenal dressing room, preparations were calm.
Boots were lined up.
Shirts hung in their places.
Music played quietly from one corner.
Francesco sat for a moment with his head down, tying his laces.
Across the room, Gnabry was already joking with Saka.
"Don't shoot every time you see the ball."
"I don't."
"You do."
"I score."
"That doesn't make you right."
Francesco looked up.
"Both of you can prove it on the pitch."
Gnabry grinned.
"That's the plan."
Wenger entered shortly afterward.
The room settled.
"Be patient," he told them. "West Ham will compete. They will defend with numbers and look for moments when we lose the ball."
He pointed toward the midfield.
"Move them. Don't force everything through the middle."
Then toward the forwards.
"When the space comes, attack it."
His eyes settled briefly on Francesco.
"Set the tempo."
Francesco nodded.
The players stood.
One final exchange of handshakes and taps on shoulders followed.
Then they walked toward the tunnel.
The Emirates was loud now.
Much louder than the dressing room.
West Ham's players waited opposite them, focused and determined.
Francesco exchanged a few words with the opposing captain before turning toward his teammates.
The referee checked his watch.
The players walked out.
The roar rose around them.
Then the whistle sounded.
West Ham immediately showed that they had not come simply to admire Arsenal.
They pressed the first pass aggressively, trying to prevent Arsenal from settling into their usual rhythm.
Kanté received under pressure and calmly moved the ball sideways.
Xhaka followed.
Robertson pushed forward.
Özil drifted into space.
Francesco remained between the centre-backs, constantly moving just enough to prevent them from becoming comfortable.
For the opening ten minutes, Arsenal had possession without creating a clear chance.
West Ham were compact.
Every time Özil received, a midfielder moved toward him.
Every time Robertson advanced, a winger tracked him.
Francesco began dropping deeper.
The movement immediately created a problem.
One centre-back followed him.
The other hesitated.
Özil noticed.
So did Gnabry.
The next attack was quicker.
Kanté won the ball near halfway.
Xhaka took one touch and found Özil.
Özil turned.
Francesco had already started moving away from the centre-backs.
The German midfielder slipped the ball into him.
Francesco controlled it and immediately returned it.
Özil accelerated.
West Ham's midfield collapsed toward him, opening the right side.
Gnabry received.
He drove forward, cut inside and shot.
The goalkeeper saved.
The rebound fell loose.
Francesco reached it first but his second effort was blocked.
The crowd roared anyway.
Arsenal were beginning to find their rhythm.
West Ham responded with a dangerous counterattack moments later.
A long diagonal ball caught Arsenal slightly high.
Koscielny moved across.
Van Dijk covered behind him.
The West Ham forward managed to get a shot away from the edge of the area.
Čech held it cleanly.
"Good," Van Dijk called.
The match settled into a competitive rhythm.
Arsenal controlled possession, but West Ham remained dangerous whenever they escaped the first press.
Then, in the 24th minute, Arsenal finally broke through.
Özil received between the lines.
Francesco checked toward him.
The centre-back followed.
That was enough.
Özil waited.
Gnabry began his run from the right.
Francesco suddenly turned and accelerated into the gap.
Özil played the pass.
Francesco reached it inside the penalty area.
One touch.
The goalkeeper came forward.
Francesco opened his body and placed the ball beyond him.
The net moved.
The Emirates erupted.
"YES!"
Gnabry reached him first, throwing an arm around his shoulders.
Francesco laughed.
"Good ball."
Özil arrived moments later.
"Good movement."
Francesco pointed at him.
"Good pass."
They separated as the crowd continued celebrating.
One-nil.
West Ham tried to respond immediately.
They pushed their full-backs higher and began sending more players into midfield.
For several minutes, Arsenal had to defend properly.
Kanté intercepted one dangerous pass.
Walker made a recovery run to stop another.
Van Dijk won an aerial duel inside the box.
Then Arsenal struck again.
This time Francesco was involved without touching the final ball.
He dropped toward the left side, pulling a defender with him.
Alexis recognized the movement and carried the ball forward.
Gnabry stayed wide.
When the defender finally stepped toward Alexis, the Chilean released the ball.
Gnabry attacked the space.
He cut inside.
Another defender tried to close him down.
Gnabry shifted the ball onto his left foot and fired across goal.
It flew into the far corner.
Two-nil.
Gnabry sprinted toward the corner flag.
Francesco chased him.
"You finally stopped arguing with the post!"
Gnabry turned while laughing.
"I told you!"
The Arsenal supporters were on their feet.
West Ham were still competing, but Arsenal now had control.
The remainder of the half was played at a high level.
West Ham created one excellent chance before halftime, forcing Čech into a sharp save, while Arsenal nearly added a third through Alexis after a quick counterattack.
The whistle eventually sounded.
Two-nil.
In the dressing room, Wenger was pleased but measured.
"Good half," he said.
Nobody celebrated excessively.
"We keep the same discipline. Don't give them a way back into the match."
Francesco drank some water and listened.
Wenger then looked toward the bench.
There were changes coming.
Francesco understood immediately.
When the teams returned, Arsenal made their first substitutions.
Saka replaced Gnabry.
Giroud replaced Francesco.
As Francesco took his place on the bench, Wenger shook his hand.
"Good work."
"Thanks, boss."
"Watch the game."
Francesco smiled.
"I'll try."
Gnabry took his seat beside him.
"You're enjoying that?"
Francesco pointed toward the pitch.
"You've done your job."
"So have you."
"Now we watch."
Giroud immediately gave Arsenal another dimension.
His strength allowed Arsenal to play more directly when necessary, while Saka brought energy and unpredictability from the flank.
The third goal came shortly after the hour.
Giroud received with his back to goal and held off his marker.
Saka had already begun his run.
Giroud laid the ball off.
Saka burst forward and crossed low.
Alexis arrived at the near post.
His shot was blocked, but the rebound fell to Özil.
The German midfielder calmly rolled the ball into the corner.
Three-nil.
Francesco was already standing.
He applauded Saka.
"Brilliant!"
Saka pointed toward Giroud.
"It was him!"
Giroud simply smiled.
West Ham refused to collapse.
They continued attacking, and Čech was forced into another save.
Wenger responded by adjusting the midfield, bringing Cazorla into the game to help Arsenal keep possession and slow the match whenever necessary.
The final goal came late.
Saka collected the ball near the right touchline.
He faced his defender.
A quick feint.
Then acceleration.
He reached the byline and sent the ball across the six-yard box.
Giroud attacked it.
The Frenchman got there first and directed the ball into the net.
Four-nil.
Saka immediately ran toward him.
Giroud embraced him.
Francesco applauded from the bench, smiling broadly.
"That's what I mean!" he shouted.
Giroud turned toward the bench.
"Happy now?"
"Very!"
The final minutes were controlled.
Arsenal did not chase another goal.
They kept the ball, moved West Ham from side to side and defended properly whenever possession was lost.
Eventually the referee raised his whistle.
Four-nil.
Another victory.
Another clean sheet.
Another three points.
Francesco stood as the players came off.
He congratulated Saka first.
"Excellent."
Saka grinned.
"Thanks."
Then Giroud.
"Great finish."
Giroud shrugged.
"Good cross."
The players disappeared toward the dressing room, but the celebrations were relatively restrained.
The season was moving too quickly for anyone to treat one result as the destination.
Then, just as the players were settling down, one of the staff members entered.
He looked unusually serious.
"There's transfer news."
Francesco turned.
"What now?"
The staff member hesitated.
"Cazorla."
Francesco frowned.
"What about him?"
The answer landed heavily.
"Arsenal have agreed to sell Santi to Villarreal for twenty million euros."
For several seconds, nobody said anything.
"Twenty million?" Ramsey finally asked.
The staff member nodded.
Francesco looked toward Cazorla.
The midfielder was already aware.
He smiled sadly.
"It's true."
Francesco walked over.
"You're leaving?"
Santi nodded.
"Looks like it."
Even at thirty-three, Cazorla still looked capable of contributing.
That was why the news hurt.
There was no bitterness.
No argument.
Just surprise.
"You've still got plenty left," Francesco said.
Cazorla smiled.
"I know."
"Then why?"
"Because sometimes going home feels right."
That answer made Francesco understand.
Villarreal had been part of Cazorla's footballing identity long before Arsenal.
The players gradually gathered around him.
Ramsey hugged him.
Özil shook his hand before pulling him into an embrace.
Kanté smiled warmly.
Alexis told him, "We'll miss you."
Cazorla laughed softly.
"You'd better."
Francesco was the last to embrace him.
"Thank you."
Cazorla held him tightly.
"Keep going, captain."
"I will."
"Look after them."
Francesco smiled.
"I'll try."
Cazorla laughed.
"Don't try. Do it."
The goodbye was emotional without becoming theatrical.
They thanked him.
They wished him well.
And they accepted that his next chapter would begin back in Spain.
As the transfer deadline approached, Arsenal's supporters began watching every announcement closely.
The squad was changing faster than many had expected.
Then another announcement arrived.
Arsenal had completed the signing of Youri Tielemans from AS Monaco for €20 million.
This time, Francesco smiled.
The club had moved quickly.
A young midfielder was arriving with technical quality, composure and room to develop.
Another piece for the future.
Another option for Wenger.
Francesco stared at the announcement for several seconds.
Wilshere had gone.
Cazorla was leaving.
Guendouzi had arrived.
Lichtsteiner had arrived.
Now Tielemans was coming through the door.
The Arsenal he had known at the beginning of the season was slowly becoming something slightly different.
Not weaker.
Not necessarily stronger.
Simply new.
And Francesco was already wondering what it would be like when Tielemans finally walked into London Colney, put on an Arsenal training kit and stepped onto the same pitch as him.
The transfer deadline was drawing closer.
There was still football to play.
Still points to collect.
Still trophies to chase.
But Arsenal's midfield was beginning to take a new shape.
And Francesco knew that the next chapter would begin the moment the newest arrival joined them.
__________________________________________________
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, 2018 World Cup, and 2018/2019 Community Shield.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 4
Goal: 5
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 0
Goal: 0
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
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