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Chapter 100: Manchester United vs Arsenal End
🕑 Added 2025-07-21 15:17:54 +0000 UTCKai was observing. Always observing.
That was all he could do now.
His legs were screaming, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. The substitution was inevitable, but until then, he still felt he could contribute.
One last push.
Kai’s eyes went to Arteta.
The Spaniard had been immense tonight. You could see it in the way he ran—he hated to press normally, but with the title race so close, every Arsenal player was giving everything they had. Arteta was no exception.
Next, Kai glanced at Cazorla.
He’d hoped Cazorla could pull some magic, something to unpick United’s defence and turn them inside out.
But clearly, United weren’t having it. Every time Cazorla got on the ball, he was hacked down before he could get anywhere. The Red Devils weren’t about to let Arsenal dictate at Old Trafford.
Kai kept cruising around the centre circle—sometimes jogging, sometimes bursting—but each sprint sapped his stamina even more.
Thankfully, Arteta was running the midfield well enough that Kai didn’t need to drop too deep.
Then he spotted something.
Evra, dribbling out on the wing, hesitated under pressure from Arteta and Cazorla and lost the ball.
But instead of getting back quickly, Evra just stood there for a moment, watching, before slowly turning and trudging back.
Kai’s eyes lit up.
He made a quick hand gesture, and Arteta immediately understood.
The pass came to Kai, who took a touch, then fired the ball out wide to Walcott.
“Go!” Kai shouted.
Walcott, looking exhausted himself, still dug deep and charged straight at Evra.
The two engaged shoulder-to-shoulder, and Walcott noticed Evra’s defensive intensity had dropped.
He’s done, Walcott thought.
A grin crept across his face. He began weaving left and right, dragging the ball in tight step-overs. Evra’s movements looked heavy, sluggish.
That confirmed it.
Walcott knocked the ball past Evra and tried to burn him for pace—but Evra, desperate, lunged in recklessly, scything him down.
Walcott hit the turf, and Arsenal players all threw their arms up, yelling for the foul.
The referee wasted no time—yellow card for Evra.
“Evra’s running on empty,” Martin Taylor said in the commentary box.
Alan Smith agreed. “Yes, you can see it there. That’s a tired challenge if ever there was one. And it’s been a theme this season—he just doesn’t have the legs for ninety anymore. Arsenal will be looking to exploit that every chance they get.”
The resulting free-kick was punched clear by De Gea.
But Kai had already read it, collected the loose ball, and immediately sent it back out wide to Walcott.
“Keep at him! Keep at him!” Kai urged.
Walcott didn’t even glance back—he turned and drove straight at Evra again.
On the United bench, Ferguson stood with arms folded, watching nervously. He knew Evra was finished. He was already planning the substitution—but prayed Evra could hang on a little longer.
But he couldn’t.
Walcott pushed the ball one way, ran the other, splitting the gap.
“Ah, f**k,” Evra despaired as Walcott breezed past him, his legs simply refusing to respond.
At that moment, Kai’s voice rang out behind him:
“You’ve already got a card!”
T/N: That is diabolical😂.
The shout froze Evra for just a split second—if he fouled again, he’d walk. And that moment’s hesitation was all Walcott needed to leave him in the dust.
Evra stumbled, chasing hopelessly as a flash of purple—Kai himself—darted past on the overlap.
Evra muttered under his breath, watching in disbelief.
“How’s he still running…?”
Kai was running on pure adrenaline and belief now, knowing this would be his final sprint of the game.
Walcott cut inside while Kai kept pulling wide, drawing United’s defence apart.
Evans looked caught in two minds, torn between Walcott and Kai.
He chose Walcott.
Walcott kept the ball, cut to his left, and rifled a shot toward the far post.
De Gea scrambled across, flinging himself full stretch, and just managed to get a boot to it.
The ball deflected sideways, straight to Kai.
Kai froze for half a second, staring at the ball spinning toward him.
He glanced up—he was almost on the byline, no angle to shoot.
So he leapt lightly, twisting in the air to head it back toward Walcott in the centre.
Walcott adjusted, set himself, and caught the volley sweetly.
Evans lunged, but the ball zipped above his legs and sailed toward the far corner.
Ding!
It kissed the inside of the post and nestled into the net.
“Goal!! Walcott!!” roared Martin Taylor.
Alan Smith was just as excited: “Oh, that is brilliant! Two quick strikes, and the second one finally does it! Arsenal take the lead again!”
Martin’s voice rose. “Goodness me! Could Arsenal really land a massive blow here at Old Trafford?!”
Alan added: “If they win this one, Martin, the gap’s down to a single point! Just one!”
On the pitch, Walcott wheeled away, arms outstretched, before turning and sprinting toward Kai.
“We’re ahead! We’re ahead again!!”
Walcott was beside himself with joy.
Arsenal had retaken the lead at Old Trafford.
The rest of the team came charging over, piling on top of Kai and Walcott in a wild celebration.
He winced under the weight of bodies but grinned through it all, feeling nothing but elation.
On the touchlines, both managers reacted instantly and almost identically.
Wenger: “Ramsey! Rosicky! Get ready!”
Ferguson: “Anderson! Valencia! Up!”
All four substitutes sprang into action, ripping off their training tops and jogging to the technical area.
Once the players had calmed their celebrations, the fourth official held up the substitution board:
Arsenal
Off: Kai (#4), Arteta (#8)
On: Ramsey (#16), Rosicky (#7).
Manchester United
Off: Giggs (#11), Evra (#3)
On: Valencia (#7), Anderson (#8).
Kai let out a deep breath when he saw his number come up.
Head down, he tugged the shin pads from his socks off and walked off with Arteta to the sound of scattered applause from the away fans, though it was drowned out by a chorus of boos from the home crowd.
Not that Kai cared.
As he reached the touchline, he tossed his shin pads aside, raising his hands to acknowledge the Arsenal fans.
Ramsey stepped forward, giving him a firm slap on the back.
“Job well done!”
On the other side, Rosicky and Arteta exchanged a crisp high-five.
Kai dropped himself down onto the grass by the bench, unlacing his boots and peeling off his socks. His feet and calves felt like they were on fire.
Pat Rice crouched next to him, cracking open another ice pack, tugging up Kai’s shorts, and unceremoniously dumping it into place.
“Oi! We’re on live broadcast here!” Kai yelped in mock protest.
Pat just chuckled.
“Relax. No cameras down here.”
Kai exhaled and leaned back, letting the cold seep in as he watched the pitch.
Twenty minutes to go. Arsenal couldn’t afford to let up yet.
On the field, United began pouring forward with renewed intensity. Valencia, fresh off the bench, was causing havoc down the wing. Ramsey did his best to contain him, but Arsenal’s full-backs were visibly running on fumes.
Wenger quickly called for another change.
Arsenal
Off: Gibbs (#28)
On: Jenkinson (#25).
With all three substitutions made, Arsenal now had to see out the game with what they had on the pitch.
The addition of Jenkinson and Ramsey helped blunt Valencia’s threat, for a while.
But Ferguson still had one final card to play.
Kai’s expression darkened as soon as he saw it.
Manchester United
Off: Nani (#17)
On: Hernandez (#14).
“Of course,” Kai muttered under his breath.
Hernandez. The Little Pea. Ferguson’s super-sub.
Kai couldn’t help but feel grudging admiration. Classic Ferguson—right after Arsenal used all their subs to shore up the right, he unleashed Hernandez on the left.
And it worked.
In the final 20 minutes, Hernandez ran riot, constantly pulling Arsenal’s left flank apart and even creating more room for Valencia on the opposite wing.
By stoppage time, United had pinned Arsenal back deep.
Then, in the 92nd minute, it happened.
Hernandez darted into a pocket of space, dragging defenders out of position before cutting the ball back.
Rooney pounced, smashing a curling volley with the outside of his boot that bent into the top corner.
The stadium erupted.
Full time: Manchester United 3 – 3 Arsenal.
“And there’s the final whistle,” Martin Taylor announced, his tone tinged with disbelief. “What a match at Old Trafford. Six goals, three comebacks, and it ends level.”
Alan Smith chimed in: “You’ve got to give credit to both sides, Martin. Arsenal pushed United to the limit here, but Ferguson’s changes proved decisive yet again. The title race stays alive—and how.”
Martin added: “It does. A point apiece, but Arsenal will feel they let this one slip.”
The final whistle had only just faded beneath the roar of Old Trafford, but already the media scrum was assembling on the touchline. Players were shaking hands—some reluctantly, others warmly—while a few Arsenal men sank to their knees, exhausted, staring at the giant scoreboard flashing 3–3 above them.
A few yards from the dugouts, Sky Sports had set up their usual post-match interview area: a modest backdrop plastered with Premier League sponsors’ logos, a pair of cameras and boom mics framed by a small ring of floodlights. The setup was tucked just behind the advertising hoardings on the south touchline, far enough from the tunnel to stay out of the foot traffic, yet close enough that players and managers could be ushered over before disappearing inside.
Producers, clad in black coats and headsets, waved over the players and managers one by one.
Wenger was the first to be ushered over to the cameras. His coat billowed slightly as he straightened his tie and stepped into the bright ring of light, his face calm, almost unreadable. The reporter raised her mic and they began.
"It’s disappointing, of course. When you lead twice at Old Trafford, you want to take all three points. But I can’t fault the effort of the players. They gave absolutely everything tonight. In the end, perhaps our legs gave way a little, and United’s substitutions made a difference. But we showed we can compete here, and we keep fighting."
Asked specifically about Kai, Wenger’s expression softened slightly, almost a hint of a smile:
"Kai gave his heart today, as always. He was everywhere. I thought he was outstanding until we had to take him off. He is a big player for us, and at his age, to play like that in this atmosphere—it’s remarkable."
A few feet away, Sir Alex Ferguson was already giving his own fiery response to another reporter, his arms folded but his eyes glinting with satisfaction.
"We showed character, didn’t we? To come from behind twice takes grit. Arsenal gave us problems today, no question—they’ve improved a lot, credit to them. But we never stopped believing. The lads dug in, and the substitutes made a good impact. That’s what you need in a title race."
He let out a chuckle when asked about Hernandez’s game-changing cameo:
"He’s got that knack, hasn’t he? Always sniffing out danger. That’s why we keep him ready in these games. He stretches defenses and opens spaces for others. He was crucial today."
Back near the dugout, Kai sat on the grass unlacing his boots, sweat still dripping from his hair. The Arsenal press officer crouched next to him with a hand on his shoulder.
“Sky wants you, mate. You’re up.”
Kai sighed and forced himself to his feet, carrying his boots in one hand, his socks loose around his ankles. The closer he got to the cameras, the hotter the lights seemed to burn, and the noise of the crowd faded into a faint, echoing hum. He stepped onto the mark, blinked into the glare, and gave a small nod to the interviewer.
"It’s frustrating. We felt we deserved more tonight, but you can’t switch off for even a second here—they punish you. I gave everything I could out there, and I’m proud of how the team fought, but it hurts to walk away with just a point. We’ll keep pushing, though. The season isn’t over."
On his condition after being substituted, he managed a wry smile:
"Yes… I was running on fumes by the end. Prof made the right call to bring me off. But as long as I’m on the pitch, I’ll keep running, keep pressing, keep fighting for this team."
Theo Walcott was next, bouncing lightly on his heels as he spoke to the same mic:
"It’s mixed emotions really. Scoring here is special, and we showed we can go toe-to-toe with them. But we wanted the win. That’s the standard we’re setting for ourselves now. One point isn’t enough for us anymore."
...
The players eventually drifted back down the tunnel, but the studio broadcast carried on, cutting to Martin Taylor and Alan Smith in the Sky Sports booth.
📺 Sky Sports Pundits: Martin Taylor & Alan Smith:
Martin:
"Well, what a pulsating ninety minutes. That’s why we love the Premier League. Arsenal will feel like it’s two points dropped after twice leading here, but they can take plenty of positives from this performance."
Alan:
"Yeah, Martin. I think Wenger will take heart from the way they approached the game. Kai was phenomenal in midfield—covered every blade of grass, put United under real pressure. But you’ve got to credit Ferguson’s substitutions too. Hernandez and Valencia changed the dynamic, and Rooney’s finish at the end—sheer class."
Martin:
"So, the gap stays at four points at the top. This title race is still wide open."
Alan:
"It is, and Arsenal have shown they’re not going away quietly."
...
The Arsenal team bus hummed softly as it pulled away from Old Trafford, weaving through the thick traffic of matchday Manchester. The players sat scattered in their seats, some chatting quietly, others leaning their heads back in silence. A faint glow from the streetlights flickered through the tinted windows.
Kai sat near the back, earbuds in but no music playing yet, just staring at his phone. His legs still felt heavy, his thighs wrapped in ice packs. His thumbs scrolled automatically through the screen as the familiar red and white icons of the GoonerTalk forum filled his feed.
“Gutted. Absolutely gutted. Twice we had them and we let it slip. You just can’t do that at Old Trafford and expect to win titles. But fair play to the boys—they fought their hearts out. Kai was a machine tonight. Lad’s got ice in his veins.”
He let out a faint, tired laugh through his nose and kept scrolling.
On Twitter:
@GoonerGirl97: Kai was immense. Walcott clinical. Proud of the boys tonight. One point at OT isn’t bad—but it feels like it should’ve been three. Onward. COYG!”
And a video post below, from what looked like a pub back in London, blurry pint glasses in the background:
“We were the better side for most of that game, weren’t we? Bloody Hernandez… always shows up against us. Still, if we play like that in the last three games, I fancy our chances. Kai’s everywhere—like two players in one.”
The bus made a sharp turn, jolting him slightly. Kai swiped to one more comment before locking his phone.
“We’ve come a long way. This isn’t the Arsenal that gets bullied here anymore. Ferguson knows it. You could see it in his face.”
He put the phone down in his lap and finally leaned his head against the cool window, staring out at the lights of the city slipping by.
Somewhere behind him, Walcott was chuckling with Ramsey over something on his own screen. Wenger was a few rows ahead, speaking quietly to Pat Rice. But back here, in his corner of the bus, Kai allowed himself a small, weary smile.
