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Chapter 216: Champions League Semifinals, First Leg 6
🕑 Added 2025-10-27 16:35:28 +0000 UTCArsenal’s attack didn’t end in a goal, but it solved a lot of their earlier issues going forward.
Cazorla, finding his rhythm again, was exactly what they needed.
Slap!
Cazorla winced, spinning around after feeling a sharp sting across his back.
“ What was that for?!” he yelped.
Kai grinned and barked a laugh. “Fifty minutes in and you finally wake up, eh?”
Cazorla couldn’t help but chuckle. “Heh, not bad, huh?”
Kai gave him a fierce look. “Now keep it going. Break through them.”
Cazorla nodded, his expression firm.
The first half had been torture for him — nerves, tension, that constant self-blame whenever a pass didn’t land right. His body had felt stiff, unresponsive, like he was trapped in his own head.
But after halftime, something clicked.
Wenger’s words came back to him — enjoy the moment, enjoy the stage.
He wasn’t alone. This was Arsenal. Eleven men, fighting together.
“Come on, lads! Lift your heads! Let’s show Madrid what we’re made of!”
Kai raised his arms and shouted, his voice cutting through the roar of the crowd.
The response was instant — shouts, claps, defiant energy surging through the team.
On the touchline, Wenger let out a quiet breath of relief.
Cazorla was crucial. When he played with confidence, Arsenal’s attack had life and rhythm. If he shut down again, their offense would sputter out.
In the first half, Kai had been the one carrying the creative load, but he couldn’t do everything. He needed Cazorla to spark that link between midfield and attack.
Pat Rice shook his head beside Wenger. “If only he had the same mindset as Kai.”
Wenger smiled faintly. “If everyone did, we’d have a lot more world-class players. It’s normal to be nervous — what matters is how you rise above it.”
“So,” Pat said with a wry grin, “we’re about to see the counterattack?”
Wenger shrugged lightly. “Who knows? The game’s in their hands now. All we can do is trust them.”
“I do,” Pat replied firmly. “Every single one of them.”
Back on the pitch, Kai walked over to Ramsey. “Don’t dive in straight away,” he said calmly. “Slow Bale down, make him hesitate — then wait for Cazorla to drop in. You’ll trap him together.”
Ramsey nodded. “Got it.”
Bale had been tormenting him earlier, and he wasn’t about to let that happen again.
As Kai drifted back into position, his eyes locked onto Cristiano Ronaldo.
He licked his lips — his next challenge.
How do you stop someone like him?
Ronaldo didn’t dribble as much these days, nor did he waste energy roaming wide. But when he did move, he was lethal — and his aerial power was still unmatched.
Kai trusted his own spring, but he wasn’t sure if it would be enough.
And Ronaldo’s off-the-ball movement was chaos — unpredictable, relentless. He’d need total focus.
“Come on, then,” Kai muttered under his breath.
Casillas took the goal kick, launching the ball high into midfield.
Modrić and Cazorla both rose for it, clashing shoulder to shoulder — but neither made contact.
The ball spun loose, dropping toward the back line.
Kai moved first, but Ronaldo was already on the move.
They jostled hard, bodies colliding. Ronaldo shoved. Kai shoved back. Neither budged.
Kroos' ball arced above them — both men timed their leap.
Bang!
Ronaldo’s vertical leap edged it. He got there first, flicking the ball down toward Modrić.
Kai landed, irritation flashing across his face, but he didn’t dwell on it — he turned and sprinted to track Ronaldo.
Modrić drove forward, Ronaldo and Bale already charging toward the box.
Ramsey stepped up to press — but Modrić, with a deft flick of the outside of his foot, lofted the ball perfectly to Bale on the right wing.
Bale controlled it smoothly and whipped in an early cross.
It was aimed at Ronaldo.
The Portuguese star surged into the area, eyes locked on the dropping ball.
But just as it descended, a red shirt came soaring from behind.
Ronaldo’s eyes widened — too early?
No.
Kai had launched himself high — unnaturally high — spreading his arms wide in mid-air, gliding forward on pure momentum.
He met the ball cleanly with his forehead, hammering it out of the penalty area.
Martin Taylor: “That’s magnificent from Kai! He read it perfectly and out-jumped Ronaldo!”
Alan Smith: “Superb defending — that’s pure determination. He knew he couldn’t let Ronaldo get a sniff there!”
The Emirates roared as Kai landed, his chest heaving, eyes locked on Ronaldo.
Cristiano Ronaldo stared at him, slightly taken aback. He hadn’t expected Kai’s hang time to be that good — or his timing that precise.
It wasn’t that Ronaldo couldn’t do it himself, but the hardest part was always judging the flight of the ball. You couldn’t predict its exact drop, and jumping too early meant wasting your effort.
But Kai had read it perfectly.
After clearing the ball, he immediately spun around and sprinted out of the penalty area — heading straight toward Real Madrid’s half.
His arms pumped, his strides long and powerful. The new running posture he’d been practicing finally felt natural, and he could feel the difference — the wind rushing past, the freedom in each step.
“Kai!!”
Someone called out behind him.
He turned — just in time to see the ball flying his way.
Kai stopped sharply, twisted, and let the ball drop onto his shoulder. It bounced lightly, rolled to his left, and he struck it on the half-volley — a perfectly timed pass whipped toward the far right flank.
Once again, he’d aimed behind Coentrão.
The ball zipped across the pitch, skipping over the turf with a backward spin that slowed it down just enough.
Right on cue, Walcott arrived, barely needing to control it before cutting inward with pace.
The sudden shift threw Real Madrid’s back line into disarray.
Ramos stepped forward to close him down — but Walcott slipped in a quick diagonal pass back to Cazorla.
Cazorla took one touch and laid it off neatly to Kai, who’d followed up. Without hesitation, Kai chipped the ball delicately with the inside of his foot.
It arced over Pepe’s head and dropped right behind him — exactly where Rosicky was arriving.
Rosicky leaned in, chested the ball down, spun, and smashed a thunderous shot toward goal!
From that range, Casillas barely had time to flinch. The ball rocketed into the back of the net!
The Emirates erupted—
Then froze.
The Arsenal supporters, halfway through their celebrations, hesitated when they saw the Real Madrid players swarming the referee.
No whistle yet.
Kai and his teammates rushed over too, voices clashing.
“That’s offside!” shouted Ramos.
“No way! Ask the linesman!” Kai shot back.
“He was behind me when he played it!”
“No! We ran at the same time — check it!”
The shouting grew louder as players from both sides crowded around. The referee waved his hands, urging them to back off, pressing a finger to his earpiece.
“The referee’s confirming whether that was offside,” said Pat Rice tensely.
“I don’t think it was — Rosicky timed it perfectly,” Martin Taylor observed.
A few seconds later, the referee nodded, turned toward the center circle, and blew his whistle.
Goal stands!
For a heartbeat, the stadium was silent.
Then came the explosion — the red half of London erupted in sheer ecstasy.
“Goal! Goal! Goal! Goal! Goal!” Alan Smith shouted over the roar. “Rosicky again! Arsenal retakes the lead against Real Madrid! The Emirates is absolutely rocking tonight!”
In the stands, Arsenal fans jumped, hugged, and waved scarves wildly. The air was electric — disbelief and joy blending into one glorious sound.
This was the Champions League semi-final.
Arsenal had led Real Madrid twice in one night.
Who dared say the Gunners’ canons had no ammo?
Not only were they loaded — they were firing straight into the Madridistas' hearts.
