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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
The biggest stage in international football had opened its doors. And soon, England would walk through them together.
Then the following morning, the quiet atmosphere around Repino changed almost immediately.
There was no lingering sense of relaxation from the previous evening.
Breakfast was quieter than usual.
Players spoke in lower voices, some already checking their phones, others sitting with headphones on while staring blankly at their plates.
Nobody needed to say why.
They were leaving Russia's northern base.
They were heading to Kaliningrad.
And this time, there would be no training camp waiting at the other end.
There would be a World Cup match.
Francesco finished his breakfast and pushed his chair back.
Walker was already standing.
"You ready?"
Francesco looked at him.
"As ready as I can be."
Walker nodded.
"Good answer."
The England squad gathered their belongings and boarded the flight bound for Kaliningrad.
The atmosphere on the aircraft was a strange mixture of concentration and excitement.
Some players slept.
Others talked quietly.
Kane sat with Henderson for part of the journey, discussing the upcoming game.
Sterling and Rashford exchanged jokes until one of the staff members gave them a look.
Rooney spent much of the flight quietly reading.
Francesco sat by the window.
For once, he wasn't thinking about Arsenal.
He wasn't thinking about the Champions League final.
He wasn't thinking about the four trophies sitting back in London.
His mind kept returning to one thing.
Belgium.
Their first World Cup match.
The aircraft descended toward Kaliningrad.
Francesco looked down through the window.
The city appeared beneath them.
He took a slow breath.
"This is it," he murmured.
Walker, sitting nearby, heard him.
"Yeah."
Neither said anything else.
They didn't need to.
After landing, the squad moved through the airport under the direction of security and staff personnel before collecting their luggage.
England bags appeared one after another.
Suitcases rolled across the floor.
Equipment cases were checked.
Staff members confirmed names.
Eventually the players moved toward the waiting team vehicles.
Their designated hotel became the next temporary home.
Once everyone had settled, the familiar routine returned almost immediately.
Recovery.
Food.
Video analysis.
Tactical meetings.
Training.
Rest.
Southgate wasn't interested in allowing the excitement surrounding the World Cup to interfere with preparation.
Belgium occupied almost every tactical conversation.
Roberto Martínez's team had quality everywhere.
Southgate wanted his players to understand how Belgium moved when they had possession, how quickly they transitioned after losing the ball and where the spaces appeared when their shape changed.
The intended structure for England was clear.
A 4-3-3.
But, as always, the shape was only useful if the players understood what happened inside it.
The midfield needed balance.
The full-backs needed discipline.
The front three needed to know when to press and when to conserve energy.
Francesco needed to understand exactly when to remain wide, when to cut inside and when to drop into the spaces between Belgium's midfield and defence.
During one video session, Southgate paused the screen.
"Look here."
Belgium's defensive line shifted.
"There's the space."
He pointed toward the screen.
"But it only exists for a second."
Francesco leaned forward.
"If we wait, it's gone."
"Exactly."
Southgate restarted the clip.
"That's the difference at this level. You don't need ten opportunities. Sometimes you need one."
The message stayed with Francesco.
Over the next few days, training became increasingly sharp.
Every movement had a reason.
Every pass had a purpose.
The coaching staff stopped exercises whenever the spacing became wrong.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Until the players began correcting themselves.
Eventually matchday arrived.
The England team bus approached Kaliningrad Stadium.
Also known as Rostec Arena.
Supporters had already gathered around the streets.
Flags hung from barriers.
England shirts appeared among the crowd.
Belgian supporters were visible too.
The noise wasn't yet deafening, but it was growing with every passing minute.
Inside the bus, the players had become noticeably quieter.
Walker looked out of the window.
Sterling sat with his headphones on.
Kane stared ahead.
Henderson was speaking quietly with Rooney.
Francesco watched the supporters through the glass.
Months of preparation had led here.
The final whistle in Kyiv.
The parade.
His selection.
St George's Park.
Repino.
The training sessions.
All of it had been preparation for this.
The bus finally stopped.
The doors opened.
Francesco stood.
Walker stepped down first.
Then Kane.
Then Henderson.
Francesco followed.
The noise hit him immediately.
He didn't stop.
He simply walked alongside his teammates and followed the staff through the stadium corridors.
Inside the dressing room, everything had already been arranged.
England bags.
Boots.
Training equipment.
Shirts.
Shorts.
Socks.
The captain's armband waited among Francesco's belongings.
He picked it up.
For a second, he simply looked at it.
Then he placed it beside his shirt.
The players changed into their England training kits and headed onto the pitch.
The stadium had grown louder.
The stands were filling.
Francesco moved through passing drills with Kane and Alli before joining the finishing exercises.
A shot.
Another.
Short movement.
Stretch.
Sprint.
Recovery.
He occasionally glanced toward the stands.
Thousands of people were watching.
Some had travelled from England.
Others had simply come to experience the World Cup.
Francesco took another breath.
His first World Cup.
As England captain.
The thought still felt slightly unreal.
Eventually the warm-up ended.
The players returned inside.
Showers.
Fresh shirts.
Boots tightened.
Final preparations.
Then Southgate entered.
The room immediately became quiet.
He stood before the players.
"This is what we've worked for."
Nobody spoke.
"You know the structure."
He turned toward the tactical board.
"Pickford."
He pointed toward the goal.
"Rose. Stones. Maguire. Walker."
Then the midfield.
"Henderson. Alli. Lingard."
Finally, the attack.
"Francesco on the left. Sterling on the right. Harry through the middle."
Francesco nodded.
Southgate continued.
"Belgium will try to move us. They will try to pull us apart."
He paused.
"We don't allow that."
Then he reminded them of Belgium's starting XI.
Thibaut Courtois in goal.
Leander Dendoncker, Dedryck Boyata and Thomas Vermaelen across the defensive line.
Nacer Chadli on the flank.
Youri Tielemans and Mousa Dembélé in midfield.
Thorgan Hazard and Adnan Januzaj supporting the attack.
Marouane Fellaini providing his physical presence.
Michy Batshuayi through the middle.
Southgate paused.
"Look at their bench."
The players glanced toward him.
"Eden Hazard. Kevin De Bruyne. Romelu Lukaku."
He shook his head.
"Don't make the mistake of thinking this is an easier Belgium because they're not starting."
Nobody smiled.
"They are still Belgium."
His voice became firmer.
"The opening minutes require concentration. Courage. Discipline."
He looked around the room.
"We don't chase the match."
A pause.
"We play our football."
Francesco listened carefully.
His heartbeat was beginning to rise.
Southgate nodded.
"Let's go."
The players stood.
They moved toward the tunnel.
Belgium were already there.
Their players waited in formation, speaking quietly among themselves as the sound of the crowd filtered through the concrete passageways.
Francesco looked toward the entrance.
A young mascot stood beside him.
The boy looked nervous.
Francesco smiled.
"You all right?"
The boy nodded.
Francesco offered his hand.
The child took it.
Together, they walked forward.
The teams emerged beneath the stadium lights.
The noise immediately became enormous.
England and Belgium moved toward their positions.
The players formed their lines.
The anthems began.
Francesco stood proudly, captain's armband visible against his sleeve.
He looked across the stadium.
Then toward his teammates.
One country.
One shirt.
One responsibility.
After the anthems came the handshakes.
The starting XI photographs followed.
Francesco stood among his teammates, looking directly toward the cameras.
Then he and Courtois were called forward for the coin toss.
The referee held up the coin.
Francesco made his choice.
England were awarded the opening kick-off.
He shook Courtois's hand.
"Good luck."
"You too."
Francesco walked back toward his teammates.
The referee checked his watch.
The whistle sounded.
The World Cup had begun for England.
The opening minutes were intense.
England tried to establish their structure immediately.
Belgium moved the ball patiently.
Batshuayi tested the space around Stones and Maguire.
Fellaini attempted to use his physical presence.
England responded with discipline.
Henderson protected the defence.
Walker and Rose balanced their forward movements.
Stones and Maguire rarely left their positions.
Francesco repeatedly drifted inside from the left.
Kane found an early shooting opportunity.
He struck the ball cleanly.
Courtois saved.
A few minutes later, Francesco received possession outside the area.
He cut inside.
Shot.
Courtois again got down quickly.
"Damn," Francesco muttered.
Kane laughed as they jogged back.
"He's having a good game."
"Unfortunately."
England continued pressing intelligently.
Belgium struggled to penetrate centrally.
The match became physical.
Fast.
Competitive.
But England remained patient.
Then, in the thirty-first minute, the opening finally came.
England moved forward with greater purpose.
Alli found space.
He looked up.
Francesco was already moving.
The pass came perfectly.
Francesco timed his run.
One touch.
The ball sat in front of him.
Courtois stepped forward.
For a fraction of a second, everything slowed.
Francesco struck.
The ball flew beyond the goalkeeper.
Into the net.
For a moment, Francesco simply stared.
He couldn't quite believe it.
Then the stadium exploded.
"YES!"
Kane reached him first.
He wrapped both arms around Francesco.
"WORLD CUP GOAL!"
Alli grabbed him from behind.
Sterling joined.
Henderson.
Walker.
Everyone.
Francesco was swallowed by his teammates.
He laughed.
He shouted.
He couldn't stop smiling.
His first World Cup goal.
His first World Cup appearance.
And he had scored.
Eventually he broke free.
He ran toward the supporters and raised both arms.
The crowd roared back at him.
Francesco stood there for a moment, taking it in.
This was the moment he'd imagined since childhood.
Not the Champions League.
Not the Premier League.
Not even the parade.
This.
The World Cup.
He turned back toward his teammates, still smiling.
England led 1–0.
Belgium responded.
They pushed higher.
England remained dangerous through Francesco, Kane, Sterling and Lingard.
Courtois continued producing excellent saves.
Every time England looked close to a second, Belgium's goalkeeper intervened.
The match gradually became more cautious.
England protected their structure.
Belgium searched for an equaliser.
Nobody wanted to make the mistake that could decide everything.
The referee eventually blew for halftime.
England walked toward the tunnel with a 1–0 advantage.
Francesco was still breathing heavily.
The adrenaline from the goal hadn't completely disappeared.
Inside the dressing room, the players gathered around Southgate.
He waited until everyone had settled.
"Good first half."
There were nods.
"But we're not done."
His eyes moved across the room.
"We cannot become passive."
He pointed toward the tactical board.
"Keep the structure."
Then toward the attack.
"Keep attacking with purpose."
He paused.
"We need to look for the second goal."
Francesco listened.
Belgium had quality.
Everyone knew it.
One careless moment could change everything.
Southgate continued.
"Don't protect the scoreline for forty-five minutes."
The room became silent.
"Control the game."
Francesco looked around.
Kane.
Alli.
Henderson.
Sterling.
Walker.
Stones.
Maguire.
His teammates.
He could still feel the emotion of his goal.
But now it had to be put aside.
The first World Cup goal had happened.
It was already history.
The second half was waiting.
Francesco stood and tightened the captain's armband.
He looked toward Kane.
Kane nodded.
Henderson clapped his hands.
"Come on."
The players rose together.
Francesco took one final breath.
Forty-five minutes remained.
England had the lead.
But the World Cup had already taught them something.
Nothing was guaranteed.
Not against Belgium.
Not at this level.
And certainly not on this stage.
The door opened.
The players stepped back toward the tunnel.
Francesco walked at the front of the group.
His first World Cup had finally begun.
Now he had forty-five minutes to help England turn a dream into a victory.
Then the second half began with a completely different feeling.
Belgium came out as though the one-goal deficit had offended them.
There was no patient feeling-out period.
No cautious exchange of passes.
From the moment the referee restarted the match, Belgium pushed forward.
England immediately felt the difference.
The ball moved faster.
The Belgian players pressed higher.
Fellaini began drifting into more dangerous areas, while Batshuayi looked for space between Stones and Maguire.
Francesco glanced toward the touchline.
Roberto Martínez was already moving.
The Belgian manager turned toward his bench and made his decision.
Two players were preparing to come on.
Nacer Chadli was withdrawn.
Mousa Dembélé followed him.
And then two familiar names appeared.
Eden Hazard.
Kevin De Bruyne.
The reaction inside the stadium was immediate.
Even the England players understood what the substitutions meant.
Belgium had decided that waiting was no longer an option.
Hazard jogged onto the pitch with his usual confidence, while De Bruyne immediately began pointing toward areas of the field he wanted his teammates to attack.
Francesco watched them for a second.
Kane noticed.
"Here we go."
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
The match had changed.
Hazard immediately began drifting.
He wasn't staying in one position.
He moved toward the left.
Then inside.
Then suddenly appeared on the opposite side.
De Bruyne was even more difficult to track.
He didn't need to touch the ball constantly.
Sometimes he simply stood between England's midfield and defensive lines, waiting for the smallest opening.
Then, when it appeared, he moved.
England's defensive structure was tested immediately.
De Bruyne received possession and lifted his head.
A run began behind Walker.
The pass came.
Walker reacted quickly, turning and getting across.
He managed to intercept before the Belgian attacker could reach it.
The England supporters applauded.
Southgate shouted from the technical area.
"Good! Stay connected!"
Francesco heard him from the opposite side of the pitch.
England dropped slightly.
Not because they were frightened.
Because they understood the danger.
Henderson became more conservative.
Stones and Maguire stayed close together.
Rose resisted the temptation to push too high.
Walker did the same.
The space between England's defensive and midfield lines remained narrow.
Belgium tried to pull them apart.
England refused.
Then Hazard found a pocket.
One touch.
Second touch.
He turned.
He drove toward the penalty area.
Henderson stepped across.
Hazard shifted the ball past him.
A shot followed.
Pickford dropped quickly.
Saved.
The England goalkeeper held onto the ball and immediately got back to his feet.
"Come on!" he shouted.
Francesco clapped.
"That's it!"
Pickford nodded.
The save mattered.
Everyone knew it.
Belgium had found the first real opening of the second half, and England had survived it.
But the pressure didn't stop.
De Bruyne received the ball again.
This time he went wider.
He waited until Rose moved toward him.
Then suddenly played the ball inside.
Hazard was there.
Hazard turned.
Shot.
Pickford again.
Another save.
The Belgian supporters groaned.
The England end erupted.
Walker ran toward Pickford.
"Brilliant!"
Pickford grinned.
"Keep them out."
Francesco looked toward Southgate.
The manager was calm.
He wasn't shouting instructions frantically.
He simply kept pointing toward the players, reminding them of their distances.
"Stay compact!"
"Don't get dragged!"
"Keep the ball!"
That last instruction mattered.
England needed to breathe.
They couldn't spend the entire second half defending.
Eventually the ball reached Henderson.
He passed to Alli.
Alli found Lingard.
Lingard played it back.
England began circulating the ball.
Slowly.
Patiently.
Belgium pressed.
England moved it away.
Walker received.
Back to Stones.
Across to Maguire.
Rose.
Henderson.
Again.
Again.
The tempo dropped.
The Belgian players became frustrated.
Francesco recognised the lesson Southgate had drilled into them for weeks.
Control didn't always mean attacking.
Sometimes control meant refusing to play at the opponent's preferred speed.
Kane dropped deeper to offer an option.
Francesco stayed wide for a moment.
Then he drifted inside.
Belgium followed him.
That opened space on the right.
Walker saw it.
He immediately moved forward.
Francesco glanced across.
Walker was already accelerating.
The pass came toward him.
Walker took it in stride.
He had space.
For once, Belgium's defensive line was retreating rather than stepping forward.
Walker continued.
One more touch.
Then he looked up.
Kane was moving.
The cross came.
Precise.
Low enough to attack.
High enough to evade the nearest defender.
Kane arrived.
One touch.
Finish.
The ball flew beyond Courtois.
The net moved.
For a heartbeat, nobody reacted.
Then Kaliningrad Stadium exploded.
"YES!"
Kane turned toward the supporters with both arms raised.
Sterling sprinted toward him.
Alli followed.
Henderson was shouting.
Francesco, still on the left side, raised both arms.
"COME ON!"
Kane was swallowed by his teammates.
Walker arrived last.
"You owe me dinner!"
Kane laughed.
"You just wanted the assist."
Walker grinned.
"Obviously."
England 2.
Belgium 0.
Francesco stood nearby, breathing heavily.
He looked toward the scoreboard.
The two-goal advantage felt enormous.
But nobody relaxed.
Not yet.
Belgium immediately pushed forward again.
Martínez knew they had to.
A two-goal deficit meant there was no longer any benefit in being cautious.
Hazard demanded the ball.
De Bruyne moved higher.
Fellaini pushed into the box.
Then Southgate turned toward his bench.
He had made his decision.
"Marcus."
Rashford stood.
"Jamie."
Vardy rose.
Then Southgate looked toward Rooney.
Wayne Rooney stood.
Francesco noticed.
His own name followed.
"Francesco."
He looked toward the fourth official.
For a moment, he simply nodded.
His World Cup debut was coming to an end.
The captain had scored.
England were winning.
And now he was being replaced.
In the sixty-eighth minute, the substitutions were made.
Francesco came off.
Kane came off.
Lingard came off.
Rashford, Vardy and Rooney entered.
At almost the same moment, Belgium made another change.
Batshuayi was withdrawn.
Romelu Lukaku came on.
The Belgian supporters roared.
England's defensive line immediately looked toward the powerful striker.
Stones and Maguire exchanged a glance.
They knew what was coming.
Before Francesco crossed the touchline, he looked at Rooney.
For a moment, neither said anything.
Then Francesco reached up and carefully removed the captain's armband.
He held it between both hands.
Then placed it into Rooney's.
Rooney looked down at it.
Then back at Francesco.
"Go on."
Francesco smiled.
"Good luck."
Rooney pulled him into a hug.
"Enjoy the rest of it."
Francesco laughed.
"I'll try."
Rooney tightened his grip on the armband.
Then turned toward the pitch.
Francesco walked toward Southgate.
The manager opened his arms.
They embraced briefly.
"Brilliant."
"Thanks, boss."
"You've done your job."
Francesco smiled.
"Not finished yet."
Southgate nodded.
"Exactly."
Francesco walked toward the substitutes' bench.
He sat down, still breathing heavily.
His shirt was soaked.
His legs were tired.
But he couldn't stop smiling.
He looked toward the pitch.
England were still fighting.
He was no longer leading from inside the formation.
But that didn't mean he stopped leading.
Every successful tackle brought him to his feet.
"Come on!"
Every clearance received applause.
When Pickford gathered another cross, Francesco clapped.
When Stones stepped in front of Lukaku, Francesco stood again.
"That's it!"
Rooney was everywhere.
The armband looked strange on him after seeing it on Francesco all afternoon.
But somehow it looked right.
Rooney had been one of the senior voices in the squad from the beginning.
He understood what England needed.
Experience.
Calmness.
Belief.
Belgium tried to respond.
Hazard received the ball and ran toward the England defence.
Walker stayed with him.
Hazard cut inside.
Walker didn't dive in.
He waited.
Henderson moved across.
Hazard was forced backward.
The Belgian crowd became frustrated.
Francesco smiled.
That was exactly what they'd worked on.
Don't chase.
Don't panic.
Close the space.
Make the opponent make the decision.
Lukaku then received the ball with Stones tight behind him.
The Belgian striker tried to turn.
Stones leaned into him.
Maguire covered.
Lukaku couldn't escape.
The ball went loose.
England recovered.
Francesco applauded.
"Beautiful!"
The minutes continued.
Belgium became more desperate.
Their passes became riskier.
Their movement became less coordinated.
England waited.
And eventually, Belgium made the mistake Southgate had been waiting for.
The ball was played into midfield.
A Belgian player attempted a risky pass.
Henderson anticipated it.
He stepped in.
Interception.
The ball rolled loose.
Rooney reacted first.
He collected it outside the penalty area.
Francesco stood.
Rooney looked up.
There was space.
Not much.
But enough.
"Go on, Wayne!" someone shouted from the bench.
Rooney took another touch.
Courtois was positioned centrally.
Rooney didn't hesitate.
He struck through the ball.
Power.
Accuracy.
The shot flew.
Courtois stretched.
But he couldn't reach it.
The ball slammed into the net.
For half a second, Rooney simply stood there.
Then the England bench exploded.
Francesco jumped to his feet.
"YES!"
He punched the air.
Rooney sprinted toward the corner.
His teammates chased him.
Sterling was screaming.
Rashford jumped onto his back.
Henderson arrived seconds later.
Rooney's face was filled with disbelief.
He looked toward the England supporters.
Then at the armband around his arm.
Three.
England 3.
Belgium 0.
Francesco stood on the sideline applauding.
He couldn't stop smiling.
The captain's armband he had handed to Rooney only minutes earlier now belonged to a goal scorer.
Walker appeared beside Francesco.
"That's some handover."
Francesco laughed.
"I'll take it."
Rooney eventually broke away from the group.
He pointed toward Francesco.
Francesco pointed back.
A simple gesture.
But both understood.
The goal belonged to Rooney.
The moment belonged to England.
And the armband had passed between two generations of leaders without any fuss.
The remaining minutes were about discipline.
Belgium still tried.
Hazard refused to give up.
De Bruyne continued searching.
Lukaku battled.
But England had control now.
Pickford remained composed.
Stones and Maguire stayed together.
Walker and Rose defended their areas.
Henderson protected the centre.
Rooney helped manage the tempo.
The supporters grew louder.
"EN-GER-LAND!"
"EN-GER-LAND!"
The chant rolled around the stadium.
Francesco watched from the bench.
He had imagined this moment differently.
Perhaps he had imagined playing every minute.
Perhaps he had imagined scoring twice.
Perhaps he had imagined lifting his arms at the final whistle while still wearing the captain's armband.
Instead, he had scored once.
Led for more than an hour.
Then watched his teammates finish the job.
And somehow, he liked that.
Because the victory wasn't his.
It belonged to everyone.
The final minutes passed.
Belgium couldn't find a way through.
Southgate stood near the touchline, arms folded.
For once, there was a small smile on his face.
The fourth official raised the board.
Added time.
A few more minutes.
Francesco looked toward the scoreboard.
3–0.
He glanced toward Rooney.
Then Kane.
Then Henderson.
Everyone was exhausted.
But everyone was still working.
The final Belgian attack came through De Bruyne.
He received the ball and tried to slide a pass into Lukaku.
Maguire stepped forward.
Interception.
The ball went out.
The England supporters cheered.
Francesco looked at the clock.
Almost there.
Walker walked toward the ball.
He took his time.
No rushing.
No unnecessary risk.
He played it back.
England kept possession.
The referee looked at his watch.
Then raised the whistle.
One long blast.
The match was over.
England had won.
3–0.
For a second, Francesco remained frozen beside the substitutes' bench.
Then he stood.
The England players on the pitch immediately began embracing one another.
Francesco ran onto the field.
Kane caught him first.
"Captain!"
Francesco laughed.
"You scored too."
Kane shook his head.
"That's you."
They hugged.
Henderson arrived.
"Brilliant performance."
Francesco smiled.
"Everyone."
Rooney walked toward them.
The captain's armband was still around his arm.
Francesco looked at it.
Rooney noticed.
"Think I'll keep it?"
Francesco laughed.
"For the rest of today."
"Fair."
They embraced.
Around them, England supporters were celebrating wildly.
Flags waved.
Scarves were held above heads.
Voices echoed around Kaliningrad Stadium.
Three points.
A clean sheet.
Three goals.
A perfect opening to Group G.
Francesco looked toward the scoreboard.
3–0.
He allowed himself a quiet smile.
His first World Cup appearance had given him almost everything a player could dream of.
A goal.
The captaincy.
A victory.
Three points.
And the feeling that England had genuinely arrived at the tournament ready to compete.
______________________________________________
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, and Champions League 2017/2018.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 59
Goal: 76
Assist: 6
MOTM: 7
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 5
Goal: 5
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