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Chapter 87: Arsenal vs Bayern Munich
🕑 Added 2025-07-08 13:42:19 +0000 UTC"It's outrageous!"
Billy grumbled from his seat in the stands.
Tickets for tonight’s match were through the roof. Champions League knockout rounds and A-tier fixtures had jacked prices up nearly fourfold. At this point, you’d be hard-pressed to find a pricier home ticket in all of London, let alone the Premier League.
Still, grumble or not, he’d paid for it.
Arsenal were on a good run. If they kept it up, Billy didn’t mind shelling out a bit extra. After all, helping the club pay off the Emirates wasn’t the worst cause in the world.
He took a swig of beer, eyes roaming the crowd as it continued to swell. The anticipation was thick in the air.
Tonight’s tie: Arsenal vs. Bayern Munich.
Bayern had been a machine this season, steamrolling opponents in both the Bundesliga and the Champions League.
A few years ago, Arsenal might have crumbled at the sight of this version of Bayern.
But this time felt different.
On the defensive side, they had Kai, Ramsey, Vermaelen, and Mertesacker.
Up front? Suarez, Podolski, Walcott, and Rosický was finally back from injury.
There was belief. Real belief.
At the very least, they’d defend the Emirates with pride.
Before long, the stadium was packed to the rafters.
From the front of the East Stand, Meadows turned and shouted, “Raise your flags!”
In a flash, the red and white banners rose across the terrace like a forest.
Flags waving in rhythm with the bouncing black jersey brigade. Voices swelling in unison.
Arsenal’s chant, Good Old Arsenal, boomed from the speakers:
Good old Arsenal, we're proud to say that name,
While we sing this song, we'll win the game,
We're so proud to say that name,
While we sing this song, we'll win the game.
Then the crowd followed with more chanting:
She wore, she wore, she wore a yellow ribbon,
She wore a yellow ribbon in the merry month of February,
And when I asked, oh, why she wore her ribbon,
She said it's for the Arsenal, and we're going to WEMBLEEEY!
The over 59,000 fans in the stadium, the majority being Arsenal made the Emirates a boiling cauldron.
Suddenly, the volume shot up another level.
The players were emerging from the tunnel.
“And here comes the captain!”
Martin Taylor’s voice rang out with excitement.
The fans responded in full force: “VERMAELEN!”
His profile flashed on the giant screen, and one by one, the Arsenal starters were called.
In the East Stand, Meadows, Billy, and the rest roared along with each name.
When Rosicky’s name was read out, the volume spiked.
Everyone had been waiting for the Little Mozart to return. His presence in midfield was crucial—finally, some balance.
Then it grew quiet. A hum of anticipation swept through the stands.
They all knew who was next.
Martin Taylor, smiling as he prepared, leaned into the mic with perfect timing.
“Next up, our number four… LE!”
The stadium erupted.
“KAAAAAAAAAAAAAI!!!”
Black jersey fans, especially in Billy’s section, shouted with everything they had.
Even the media had admitted: no Arsenal supporter, no matter how picky, could resist this teenager.
And the black jersey ultras? The most demanding of all—yet they adored Kai.
In the stands, Zheng Xin clenched his fists, heart pounding.
The roar around him felt like a heatwave.
That young man walking out of the tunnel...
Right now, in this moment, he wasn’t just a player.
He was a warrior.
Kai had taken this massive club on his back through its toughest stretch.
His interceptions, his tackles, his assists—they were the heartbeat of this team’s revival.
He deserved every decibel of that cheer.
On Sky Sports, Martin Taylor continued with admiration in his voice:
“This season has been a rollercoaster for Arsenal. From rock bottom to a roaring resurgence—what a turnaround.”
Alan Smith chuckled. “Last season, they had the Premier League Golden Boot with Van Persie. This year? Just an 18-year-old named Kai!”
“What’s wrong with being 18?” Alan teased back with a grin.
Martin laughed. “Exactly! That’s the story here.”
Both former pros shared a look—everyone was thinking it.
Kai wasn’t just the future.
Right now, he was Arsenal’s present.
The lineups appeared on screen:
Bayern Munich (4-2-3-1):
GK: Neuer
DF: Alaba, Dante, Van Buyten, Lahm (C)
DF. MF: Schweinsteiger, Martinez,
ATT MF: Müller, Kroos, Robben
FW: Mandzukic
Arsenal (4-2-3-1):
GK: Szczesny
DF: Sagna, Mertesacker, Koscielny, Vermaelen (C)
DF. MF : Ramsey, Kai,
ATT. MF: Rosicky, Podolski, Walcott
FW: Suarez
The returns of Koscielny and Rosicky had tightened Arsenal’s spine, easing some of the pressure off Kai.
Still, all eyes were on him.
The match was about to begin.
And with Rosický’s return, Arsenal were finally able to reestablish their signature pass-and-move rhythm.
...
In the Sina Sports Champions League broadcast room in China, commentator Zhan Jun was fired up:
“The left flank will be the key area tonight. Wenger deployed Kai on the left side of midfield, clearly to deal with Robben. Kai’s stats for tackles and interceptions in the Premier League are exceptional—let’s see if he can keep Robben quiet.”
Zhang Lu sighed beside him.
“To be honest, Arsenal don’t have many options here. Right now, the most reliable defensive presence they have is Kai. Beyond him, the others... well, not much to work with.”
...
On the pitch, Kai took a series of deep breaths.
The knockout stage of the Champions League hit differently. Two legs—win or go home. No second chances.
And, as expected, most of the pressure tonight was squarely on Arsenal’s shoulders.
As the players prepared, Kai’s gaze locked onto the bald man across the halfway line.
Arjen Robben.
29 years old. At the absolute peak of his powers.
Don’t let the receding hairline fool you—this man was a problem.
Kai knew it wouldn’t be easy. Still, he kept breathing, kept centering himself.
The referee Svein Oddvar Moen stepped away from the center circle.
Beep!
And we were underway.
Arsenal kicked off, but before they could settle, Bayern swarmed like wolves.
Under immediate pressure, the ball came to Vermaelen, who quickly played it across to Kai.
Kai and Vermaelen were operating on the same line, with Koscielny tucked in as cover.
Wenger had stacked his strongest defenders on that side to try and contain Robben.
As Kai readied himself for the pass, he glanced up—and was startled.
Robben was already charging at full speed.
Kai rushed in to receive, barely keeping the ball under control before managing a safe return pass.
But Robben wasn’t done. He chased Vermaelen immediately.
Kai peeled toward the touchline to provide an outlet, but Vermaelen calmly switched the ball to Koscielny.
Only then did Robben ease off.
Kai exhaled.
That was too close for comfort.
“Dangerous moment there!” said Martin Taylor on Sky Sports. “Kai hasn’t quite adjusted to the intensity of a Champions League knockout tie.”
“Absolutely,” agreed Alan Smith. “It’s a different animal from the group stages. The tempo ramps up, the passing windows tighten—and when you’re up against Bayern’s front press, you’ve got to be razor sharp. No standing still.”
Kai had been rattled, no doubt. But he was adjusting quickly.
Don’t wait for the ball—step to it. Always.
After a few more exchanges, Arsenal worked it up to Rosický.
He tried to get something going, but perhaps due to his long layoff, he lost out under a double-team from Müller and Martínez.
Bayern immediately launched a counter.
Schweinsteiger to Kroos. Kroos out wide to Robben. And here we go—the Dutchman on the flank, ready to explode.
The pace was frightening.
But just as Robben looked to ignite the burners, a figure stepped into his path.
Got you!
Kai cut him off.
Robben was surprised—he hadn’t seen him coming.
It killed his rhythm. But he didn’t pass. He kept the ball on his left and began probing, looking for space.
Kai sank low into his stance.
He knew what Robben wanted—to draw him in and slide past on that favoured left.
Not this time.
“Here we go!” said Martin Taylor. “That matchup didn’t take long.”
“Robben wants to take him on,” Alan Smith added, “and you can bet they’ll both want to win this early mental battle.”
Robben danced on the ball, testing Kai’s reactions. A few shuffles. A stutter step. A feint inside. Nothing.
Kai stayed locked on, three metres out, cutting off the inward line.
Robben’s eyes narrowed. He gave the ball a couple more taps, then exploded to the right.
Now!
Kai sprang forward just as Robben touched it ahead.
He stretched his leg out cleanly—boot meeting ball—and deflected it off Robben’s path and out of play.
The ball rolled harmlessly into touch.
Robben froze.
He had thought the feint worked. But no.
Kai straightened up and barked toward his back line:
“Drop! Hold the line!”
“Brilliant read by Kai,” said Martin Taylor.
“Perfect timing,” Alan Smith agreed. “He didn’t bite on any of the early fakes and pounced exactly when Robben opened the door.”
It wasn’t a goal. But it was a statement.
