After receiving the ball, Aguero began dribbling slowly toward the wing. His pace wasn't fast—head up, eyes scanning the field.
Jenkinson stepped up, ready to press.
"Drop back!" came a sharp command.
Jenkinson paused mid-step. He looked over and saw Kai gesturing downward while sprinting toward Aguero.
As Kai closed in, he squared up, crouching slightly with his body angled to leave the wing open.
If Aguero tried to break down the flank, he'd run straight into Jenkinson, with Kai chasing from behind—classic pincer move.
That left the center as Aguero's only viable path.
Of course, he could try a pass too. But Aguero didn't.
Instead, the Argentine's footwork quickened. His ball control was masterful, weaving side to side—but Kai held his ground, unmoved.
"Tricky," Aguero muttered under his breath. Then he suddenly flicked the ball right and went for the move.
Just as Kai looked about to bite, Aguero shifted again, cutting sharply.
Got him, Aguero thought.
But then—
A firm pressure hit his chest. He stumbled slightly.
Looking down, he saw Kai's arm against his sternum. In the next moment, Kai slid in front, body wedged between man and ball, and calmly took possession.
...
"Aguero took the bait."
On the sidelines, Pat Rice grinned. "That shoulder feint from Kai—genius. He lured Aguero right where he wanted him. Then dropped the arm, got position, and stole it clean."
Wenger nodded, arms folded. "Textbook."
"Textbook?" Pat raised a brow. "Come on, that was bloody elegant." He could see the professor was quietly thrilled, though, true to form, Wenger didn't show it.
Kai passed the ball off to Arteta, and Arsenal transitioned into attack.
Back near midfield, Kai resumed his patrol around the center circle.
Wenger had told him to push forward if the chance was right—but this didn't feel like it.
Behind him, Aguero watched Kai with a slight frown.
His feints were usually effective. Today, nothing. The Arsenal No. 4 read him like a book.
Arsenal's attack fizzled out, and City regrouped. The ball cycled back, all the way to their backline.
But the problem was obvious—the playmakers were still upfield.
Arteta, once again, was slow to recover.
Kai sighed under his breath. It wasn't the first time. Arteta's retreat speed had always been an issue, but what could he do? The man just didn't have the legs anymore.
The ball reached Gibbs on the right flank. Dzeko was already charging in to press.
Kai pulled back slightly to respond, and Gibbs didn't hesitate, slotting the ball directly to him.
At that moment, Kai didn't even look over his shoulder. His instinct, honed by experience, told him Aguero was on the move.
He's going to press.
Kai didn't try anything flashy. Just a simple pass back to the center-back. Then, without pause, he sprinted into position to support again.
Thanks to Kai's relentless movement and willingness to offer an outlet, Aguero and Džeko's high pressing amounted to nothing.
By now, Arteta and Cazorla had also tracked back.
Kai positioned himself at a 45-degree angle to receive the ball and sent a precise lofted pass over Arteta to Cazorla.
"We're gonna put those old bones to training with me tomorrow," Kai whispered to Arteta when he passed by.
Arteta knew he'd been a bit sluggish, but he just couldn't keep up physically.
Fortunately, Kai had filled the gap and helped settle the build-up under pressure.
The fans and commentators, of course, weren't aware of the behind-the-scenes communication. To them, Kai was simply sharing the organizational duties—and doing a damn good job of it.
Dixon, watching from the commentary booth, nodded in appreciation.
"Kai's stepped up. You can see he's starting to take on a share of the playmaking responsibilities."
Arsenal fans in the stands smiled, seeing a spark of resilience return to their team.
Since Kai had come into the team, the defensive shape had found its rhythm again. Everything looked more settled. Organizational skills being displayed was a bonus for them.
An aggressive midfielder like him brought calm to the backline. And with Arteta struggling to track back on time, Kai had taken on the organizational burden almost seamlessly.
The match was now in a deadlock.
Kai glanced up at City's back line—they were creeping forward, pushing higher in unison. Subtle, but clear. Manchester City were trying to seal the game.
Kai raised an eyebrow.
As the clock ticked on, City began accelerating their attacks.
The pressure mounted on Arsenal's defense.
But Kai kept moving. Kept plugging gaps. Kept reading plays.
Still, they couldn't go on like this. They needed an equalizer.
Kai turned his head frequently, tracking the flow of passes. He wasn't omniscient, but reading the next few seconds? That, he could do.
David Silva spotted Aguero raising his hand and sent a ball his way—but it lacked just a bit of power.
Suddenly, Kai burst forward, cutting toward Aguero's path.
Aguero stepped up to meet it, but just then, a sharp sound of cleats slicing grass broke the moment.
A blur darted in from the side—Kai.
He slid in with precision, cleanly robbing the ball.
Yes, robbed—there's no better word for it.
Before Aguero could even react, the ball was already at Cazorla's feet. And Kai? Already sprinting upfield.
"Beautiful tackle! Right to Cazorla—Arsenal have a chance to counter!" shouted Donald Walker.
It was the kind of tackle you rarely see. Perfect timing. Perfect angle. And it launched a counter in one move.
Cazorla immediately took off, carrying the ball forward.
Suarez, Cazorla, Arteta, Podolski—and Kai himself—all surged ahead into City's half.
Manchester City scrambled to recover. They reacted quickly, forming a disciplined five-man wall at the back.
Cazorla took it wide, scanning for an opening. None.
He prepared to force a breakthrough—
"Back." Kai's voice came from his back.
Without thinking, Cazorla passed it back.
Kai was now positioned at the edge of the box on the right.
City's defense formed a tangled line—Arteta and Suarez running channels, Cazorla drifting centrally.
Five defenders, all aware of Kai now.
And then, without hesitation, Kai struck.
His passing technique was arguably one of the cleanest at Arsenal, and this pass showed it.
The ball curved elegantly in the air, gliding past the melee and heading toward the far post.
All eyes followed its path.
Kompany tracked it in the air, thinking: Suarez or Arteta?
But Kai had something else in mind.
The ball cut across the center, then arced toward the back post, fast and sharp.
Kompany's eyes widened.
A red-and-white figure leapt forward—Podolski!
He soared and connected with a fierce header.
Joe Hart lunged—fingertips brushed the ball.
Too late.
It pinged off the post and into the net.
The Etihad fell into stunned silence.
The home fans couldn't believe it.
In the studio, commentator Dixon stood up and roared:
"Goooaaaal!"
"87th minute! Podolski at the far post! What a counterattack! What a goal!"
"That pass!" he added breathlessly. "No—that vision! Everyone was watching Suarez and Arteta, but Kai picked Podolski! Ice-cold decision-making under pressure!"
Donald Walker chimed in:
"From interception to assist, Kai did it all! All Podolski had to do was head beyond Hart."
...
On the bench, assistant coach Pat Rice jumped up and embraced Wenger.
"This is it! This is exactly what I meant—creative vision! He sees things others can't! It's like he's playing with a future cam."
Pat was overjoyed.
Kai was finally adding more of that daring pass from the youth academy to the Premier League stage.
Wenger, mouth slightly agape, was just as shocked.
One moment of brilliance. One goal.
From interception to assist, Kai owned the sequence.
...
[Oak Bar, Woolwich]
Meadows stood motionless before the TV.
That pass. That curve. That finish.
Everything challenged what he thought Kai could become.
He'd always hoped Kai might be the next Vieira.
But now? He wasn't so sure.
Vieira couldn't make that pass.
"Should he play further forward?" Meadows wondered aloud. "But his defense is so solid…"
He was stuck—happily stuck—in a conundrum.
One thing was certain: Kai had sparked something inside him.
For the first time in years, Meadows could feel it—
The Arsenal spirit was stirring again.
It wasn't a roar yet, but it was unmistakable.
His throat dry, he downed a sip of beer and clenched his fist.
"Kid, if you can keep this up… I'll wear your jersey to the Emirates."
And coming from Meadows, the leader of the Black Jersey Fan Organization?
That wasn't just approval.
It was an oath.
...
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