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Chapter 231: The Crowning Match 2
🕑 Added 2025-11-06 13:25:43 +0000 UTC“Kai’s long-range effort! Ahhh—Čech! What a save!”
Martin Taylor’s voice carried a mix of surprise and regret.
“He struck that beautifully,” Alan Smith added. “Perfect timing on the shot… I thought that was heading straight into the top corner.”
But Čech was sharp, reading it early and reacting just in time.
On the pitch, Kai shook his head in frustration. He’d aimed for the far post, thinking Čech might not react quickly enough—but the veteran keeper was clearly alert to his intentions.
Arsenal’s corner.
Kai gestured for Mertesacker to attack the header while he stayed outside the box to support.
As he moved into position, Oscar came charging over, shoving him repeatedly.
The Brazilian’s hands were all over him, jostling and pushing.
Kai wasn’t even in the box and had no idea why Oscar suddenly decided to pick a fight.
When Kai didn’t respond, Oscar got even bolder, sticking to him like an octopus.
Even the calmest player has his limits—and Kai wasn’t known for his patience.
Taking advantage of the referee turning away, Kai grabbed Oscar by the collar, pushed him, swung his leg around, and—
Oscar hit the turf with a thud.
“Ahhhh!” Oscar howled, clutching at the ground, but Kai stood there coolly as if nothing had happened.
The scream drew the referee’s attention, and heads turned.
Kai quickly raised his hands, an innocent look on his face.
“He threw me!” Oscar shouted furiously.
Kai shook his head. “No idea what he’s talking about! He’s making it up!”
The referee eyed them both suspiciously before giving each a verbal warning.
Oscar got up, visibly frustrated.
As the ref walked off, Kai muttered, “Come on—keep going.”
Oscar bristled, but when Kai stared him down, the fire went out of him immediately.
There was a clear difference in build—Oscar knew he’d lose a fight.
And after all, Kai’s reputation preceded him. He’d once flattened Pepe and even argued with Ramos in a Champions League match.
No one wanted to test that.
Seeing Oscar back off, Kai gave a cold snort, then shook his head. Sometimes, having a fearsome reputation really did come in handy.
The match resumed. Cazorla stood over the corner again, swinging it toward Mertesacker. But Chelsea were ready—Terry wrestled Mertesacker just enough to throw him off balance. The header lacked power, and Čech easily caught it.
Arsenal’s attack fizzled out—but before they could reorganize, Čech launched a booming kick toward Hazard.
Hazard was ready to bring it down, but out of nowhere, Kai leapt and met the ball cleanly, heading it straight into touch.
“Čech with a quick launch—Chelsea looking to counter! Hazard—no! Kai’s there again!” Martin Taylor exclaimed.
Alan Smith added, “Brilliant read from Kai. He’s cut out another counter before it even started. His awareness is just outstanding—he’s everywhere tonight!”
Landing firmly, Kai immediately turned and barked, “Drop back!”
Arsenal’s players quickly retreated into defensive shape.
Even before Čech’s kick, Kai had already sprinted to anticipate the ball’s path.
If you wanted to beat Chelsea, you had to cut off their counterattacks—and in that department, Kai was unmatched.
Chelsea took the throw-in, but as soon as the ball came in, Arsenal pressed in numbers. Two, three players swarmed the receiver. Under pressure, Oscar lost possession again.
Arsenal recovered and pushed forward once more.
Watching from the Sky Sports booth, Martin Taylor chuckled, “Arsenal is completely bossing the midfield right now.”
Alan Smith nodded. “Oscar just can’t handle the press. Arsenal’s midfield trio are suffocating him every time he touches the ball.”
In the stands, Arsenal fans roared with laughter and chants:
“Fake’s still a fake—he’ll never be Kai!”
“The boy wants to be a man! Dream on!”
“The imitation can’t beat the real thing!”
On the pitch, Oscar’s expression was darkening by the minute.
A string of poor touches, missed passes, and lost duels had drained his confidence. The once-celebrated prodigy looked a shadow of himself.
He’d tried so hard to mold himself into Mourinho’s ideal midfielder—but no matter how much he worked, he couldn’t become another Kai.
The more he forced himself to change, the more he lost what made him special. His creativity had been replaced with mechanical discipline, and yet, he still lacked Kai’s physical presence and defensive bite.
Now, he was neither here nor there—a utility midfielder who couldn’t truly impose himself.
Still, he ran tirelessly, trying to make up for that gap with effort alone.
Spotting Kai with the ball, Oscar sprinted forward, determined to win it back.
But Kai, seemingly aware of him approaching, suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.
Oscar crashed straight into him, chest-first. Pain shot through his ribs as his breath caught.
Before he could recover, Kai burst forward again, shrugging him off and driving past with ease.
That tiny sequence summed it up—the gulf between them was glaring.
Kai carried the ball upfield, scanning Chelsea’s setup.
Mourinho’s side had already dropped deep into their defensive shell. The back line stayed compact, never overcommitting, which ruled out any hope of a ball slipping in behind.
Walcott’s pace, one of Arsenal’s biggest weapons, was being smothered by the lack of space.
Arsenal regrouped, probing again.
Kai fed the ball to Cazorla, allowing the Spaniard to orchestrate the next move from the front.
He hesitated for a moment, debating whether to push forward himself—but eventually chose to hold his position near the edge of the box, ready to pounce if a shooting chance came.
If they couldn’t break through, they’d strike from range.
Arsenal poured forward once more, peppering Chelsea’s defense with wave after wave of pressure.
The Emirates roared in approval.
The fans could feel the confidence radiating from their players—this was Arsenal at their best: aggressive, brave, full of intent.
Even against heavyweights like Real Madrid or Chelsea, they refused to back down at home.
But the question remained—how to carve out the perfect opening?
“Cazorla glides past David Luiz… Terry steps up… backheel from Cazorla!” Martin Taylor’s voice rose with excitement.
The ball flicked diagonally back—straight to the edge of the area, where Kai was already shaping to shoot.
“Kai—goes for it!” Alan Smith exclaimed.
But instead of blasting it, Kai scooped the ball beautifully with his right foot. It lifted high into the air, arching gracefully over Terry and Cahill.
Behind them, Walcott appeared right on cue, darting diagonally through the line. He met the falling ball in stride, swinging his leg horizontally—
—and swept it cleanly into the net.
For a moment, the Emirates fell silent in disbelief.
Then came the eruption.
The Arsenal crowd exploded in celebration.
But as the noise swelled, Chelsea’s players threw their hands up, appealing for offside. Terry, Cahill, and Ivanović all surrounded the linesman.
After a tense pause, Howard Webb pointed to the center circle—goal given.
Arsenal led Chelsea 1–0 in the 21st minute.
“No offside! The goal stands!” Martin Taylor shouted, his voice rising above the din. “What a stunning move from Arsenal—quick, clever passing, and that cheeky scoop from Kai! A beautiful finish from Walcott to top it off!”
Alan Smith laughed. “That’s vintage Arsenal, isn’t it? Crisp, incisive, unpredictable. You never know which touch will lead to the goal!”
“Goooooooooooal!”
The Emirates erupted into chaos—fans were on their feet, flags waving, scarves spinning in the air. The sound rolled through the stands like thunder.
Fireworks of emotion burst everywhere. It felt like a volcano had erupted in North London.
Outside the stadium, the chants could already be heard echoing through the streets.
On the pitch, Kai threw an arm around Walcott and gave his head a vigorous rub.
“Great run!” he shouted, grinning.
Before that pass, the two had exchanged just a glance—enough. After countless matches together, they knew each other’s instincts perfectly.
The moment Kai flicked his foot under the ball, Walcott had already made the diagonal sprint, using his explosive burst to get behind the line.
One touch later, it was in the back of the net.
A goal built on trust, timing, and pure chemistry—the kind of connection that turns a good team into a great one.
