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Chapter 65: Arsenal vs Manchester United End
🕑 Added 2025-06-09 15:38:25 +0000 UTCThe fans were chanting their heads off.
What an atmosphere!
Right now, the Emirates Stadium is absolutely on fire.
Ian Darke took several deep breaths. He tried to compose himself, to calm the heart that was practically leaping out of his chest, and said with deep emotion:
"When we entered the latter stages of the second half, this is no longer just a tactical battle. The technical nuances have faded into the background."
Steve McManaman nodded, adding, "At this stage, it’s about heart. When your legs feel like lead and your lungs were burning, it’s who wants it more."
Ian continued, "Exactly. When your body is screaming at you to stop, the players who push through are the ones who decide the outcome."
"And right now, Arsenal have answered the call."
Clap clap clap clap clap clap clap clap clap clap clap clap clap clap clap clap!!
The applause thundered through the stadium, with Arsenal fans clapping so hard their palms turned red.
Still, they couldn’t get enough of it.
This match was incredible.
A stunning comeback!
They had turned the tide against Manchester United at home.
The match wasn't over yet, but the fans were determined: this result would not be overturned again.
They wouldn’t let Manchester United walk away with those precious three points.
...
“Ramsey! Diaby!”
Wenger had returned to the bench, grabbing Ramsey by the arm and speaking gravely.
“Your job now is to protect this score line. I don’t care what happens—do not let them score.”
Both men nodded firmly. Whatever it took, they would see this through.
Wenger clapped Ramsey and Diaby on the back and signaled the substitutions.
Walcott came off.
Ramsey came on.
Cazorla made way for Diaby.
From that moment forward, Arsenal went into full defensive mode.
As they dropped deep, packing the box with a wall of red and white, the Manchester United players understood—it was over.
Stoppage time began, but there was simply no time left to break through.
And then, after a long clearance from Szczesny, the referee Mike Dean blew the final whistle.
Beep! Beep!!
And just like that, the stadium erupted.
Arsenal had done it!
They had beaten Manchester United!
They had defended their home, the Emirates.
Before the match, there was genuine fear—United’s strength was daunting. Even with Van Persie on their side, there was uncertainty about how they’d win.
And truth be told, even now, they didn’t quite know how they did it.
But they fought.
They battled.
And somehow, they triumphed.
The crowd rose like a roaring wave.
This match had everything.
For many fans, this was the most thrilling game in recent memory.
“The boys were phenomenal! That’s what Arsenal football is all about!” McManaman said, voice barely audible above the roar.
Ian added, “Today, these young Gunners reminded us—no one comes here and walks over us. Not even United.”
“This is their home. And they defended it with pride!”
After a brief pause, Ian Darke’s voice softened, filled with emotion:
“And we’ve got to mention one standout performance—Kai. That young man was immense.”
“He was everywhere—breaking up attacks, covering ground, setting the tempo.”
Steve McManaman nodded, “He’s earned that No. 4 shirt today, no question about it. You want leadership? You look at him.”
“Regardless of what the stat sheets say, he was my man of the match,” Ian said.
The applause surged again like waves crashing on the shore.
And in the center of it all stood Kai.
Soaked in sweat, his kit streaked with grass stains, gauze wrapped around his head with blood slowly seeping through—he was the picture of grit.
It was a mess—but to Arsenal fans, it was a badge of honour.
Every grass stain came from another crunching tackle.
Every drop of sweat from tireless running, back and forth, offense and defense.
That wound? A mark of battle. He had defended Arsenal's goal with everything he had.
Pat watched Kai quietly from the sidelines and murmured:
“How long does it take to win over Arsenal fans? Kai gave us the answer—one match is enough.”
“They’re a demanding lot, our fans—but even they can’t deny what he did out there today.”
Wenger nodded, a rare smile tugging at his lips.
“I’m glad I brought him in last year.”
Pat clenched his fist in triumph.
“800,000! That’s a bargain. Absolute bargain!”
Wenger turned his head toward the player tunnel and spotted Ferguson leading the Manchester United players away quietly, a dark expression clouding his face.
Seeing that, Wenger couldn't help but chuckle.
He probably never imagined the place he planned to conquer would be defended so fiercely by a group of young Gunners.
Wenger’s eyes returned to the pitch, just in time to see Kai walking toward the East Stand.
The match was over. They’d done it.
But Kai hadn’t forgotten the promise Meadows made.
He made his way to the bottom of the East Stand. Some Arsenal fans were already preparing to leave, but when they saw him, they stopped immediately, erupting into cheers and applause.
"Beautiful tackle, Kai!"
"That was a hell of a performance!"
"We went toe-to-toe with United—and we won! Hahaha!"
"Felt like we were back nine years ago!"
Kai grinned, clearly moved by the reaction.
He looked up at the section above, where thousands of fans in black jerseys stood with Meadows and the others.
Kai raised his hand and gave a wave.
Meadows laughed and turned to the crowd, shouting, "You ready, boys?"
"Ready, boss!" they roared.
Then, all at once, they fell silent.
All eyes were locked on Kai.
They raised their fists and punched the air three times.
Ha!
Ha!
Ha!
The sudden shouts cut through the stadium noise like a knife.
Fans who were halfway to the exits turned back, surprised. Even Arsenal’s players paused to look toward the East Stand.
They saw Kai standing beneath it, staring at his fist like he was frozen in place.
Then he burst out laughing.
He stepped back, turned slightly sideways, shook his right hand out like a fighter, and twisted at the waist—then launched three powerful punches into the air.
First punch—
"HA!!"
Second punch—
"HA!!!"
Third punch—
"HA!!!!!!"
The roars from the black-jerseyed fans surged like a wave crashing onto the pitch.
"Kai!!!"
The entire stadium turned to watch, caught up in the wild, cathartic celebration.
Pat blinked in surprise. "Are those the black jerseys?"
Wenger’s expression softened.
In all his years at Arsenal, his one regret had always been failing to win over the black jersey crowd.
He used to think they were simply against him.
Now, he wondered if maybe—he’d just gone about it the wrong way.
...
After the match, Kai headed back to the dressing room, only to be intercepted by Pat.
Even though Kai insisted he was fine, Pat wasn’t taking any chances. That was Rooney’s shot, after all.
He’d blocked it with his head.
Pat took him straight to University College Hospital London. Kai hadn’t even had time to shower.
The nurses and doctors, clearly used to post-match visits, moved swiftly through the check-ups.
After more than an hour, the diagnosis came back: no serious issues.
Still, Pat wasn't convinced and scheduled a follow-up for the following week.
Finally, Kai was taken in to have the wound on his forehead stitched.
The bandage wasn’t enough anymore. His latest header had torn the skin again. Some of the damaged tissue had to be removed before stitching could begin.
Two hours later, Kai emerged from the hospital, another layer of gauze wrapped tightly around his head.
He looked absolutely defeated.
The reason?
Simple.
The doctor had told him he needed at least a week—maybe two—of rest.
After a game like that, with his momentum soaring, the idea of missing the next match was crushing.
