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Chapter 64: Arsenal vs Manchester United 4
🕑 Added 2025-06-08 15:40:30 +0000 UTC"Guys, make some noise! Come on!"
"Yeah, goals are great—but brilliant defense? That’s electric too!"
"From the brink of collapse to a miracle save—unbelievable."
"He said no to United’s goal. He said no to destiny!"
"I need more noise."
Meadows with a megaphone and his group kept pumping up the crowd, took a deep breath, and shouted:
"Let me hear it! Loud as you can—call his name!!"
Kai!! KAI!! KAI!!
The stadium erupted. Arms in the air. Voices raw from screaming.
No one had ever felt this level of sheer madness.
Yes, Arsenal’s fire had been lit—and a teenager struck the match.
And nothing would stop that obsession.
At this moment, Kai was a hero to every Arsenal supporter.
...
Los Angeles, USA.
Matt Damon sat frozen in front of the TV. On screen, Kai roared.
He was speechless.
Just moments earlier, all hope seemed lost. And then, Kai.
Kai dragged the team from despair.
Mouth slightly open, Damon stood, grabbed his phone, turned it on, and hit dial.
"Hey! What’s up, man?"
"I want Kai’s match-worn jersey."
"What?"
"The jersey! The one he wore tonight! I don’t care what it costs. I swear—this is a legendary moment. Arsenal just found their star!"
"Are you nuts?"
"No! I’m serious—I need that jersey!"
"Alright, alright... I’ll ask him. But it’s not my call."
...
Kai was mobbed by his teammates.
"Dude, incredible!"
"You saved us, man!"
"Two huge blocks back-to-back!"
"They didn’t score—we’ve still got a chance!"
Kai, pinned under the pile, suddenly winced. Something was stinging his eye.
"Hey—guys, off me. Something’s not right."
The players quickly backed off.
Direct hit from Rooney’s shot—there was concern he might’ve taken damage.
Sure enough, a cut on Kai’s forehead was bleeding.
Vermaelen flagged the ref instantly.
The referee paused the game and waved over the medical team.
Gary, the team doctor, rushed over to check Kai’s condition.
He held up three fingers. "How many?"
"Three."
Levin pulled out a medical flashlight, checked Kai’s pupils, then nodded. "We’ll need to scan you later—but for now, you're done."
Kai frowned. "No way. I’m not finished yet."
"You’re bleeding. You can’t keep going like this."
"You’ve got hemostatic staples, right?"
Gary looked reluctant. "You want to use that?"
Kai nodded. "Do it. Quick. I’m not coming off."
With a sigh, Levin pulled out the stapler-like device. He pinched the skin together and clicked three quick times.
Then he cleaned the area with alcohol, wrapped gauze around Kai’s head, and handed him a clean jersey from the kit bag.
Kai blinked. "You carry spares too?"
"Pat told me to," Gary muttered. "Said you'd need it."
Kai grinned, peeled off the blood-soaked shirt, tossed it aside, and pulled on the fresh one. He sprinted to the sideline, signaling he was good to go.
"No headers!" Gary called after him. "That wound could burst again!"
"Got it!" Kai shouted back without breaking stride.
The match resumed. Bandaged but undeterred, Kai stepped back onto the field.
The crowd erupted into applause.
He had earned it—with his fearless play, with his heart.
"Kai is back. Arsenal can’t be without him now," Ian Darke said from the commentary booth. "He’s just 18 years and ten months old, but he’s holding this defense together."
Arsenal supporters nodded along with every word.
Kai had proved, again and again, that he could be trusted.
Tonight, though, he went beyond that.
He became a warrior.
"Look at him! Gauze around his head—still going!" one fan shouted in awe.
Another sighed in agreement.
"And they’re not afraid of anyone. Not even United today! They’re going toe-to-toe like madmen! F**king luv it."
Manchester United’s triple-shot barrage hadn’t hit the net, and their momentum took a hit.
But United were still United.
They always came back.
Kai knew that too.
As the clock ticked toward the 80th minute, United launched wave after wave.
Kai’s workload got heavier.
And beneath it all, he was getting mad.
This was their home.
And United were acting like they owned the place.
BUMP!
Kai collided with Van Persie. Both stumbled slightly.
On TV, Van Persie looked lean. But in person? The man was built like a tank.
Kai had a slight edge in this situation. Even while losing balance, he managed to twist mid-fall, crossed his left and right legs, and struck the ball cleanly.
Both players went down at the same time.
“F**k!”
Van Persie slammed the turf in frustration, but Kai didn’t even glance his way.
He pushed himself up quickly and sprinted back toward the center circle to cover.
Arteta had joined the attack, leaving the defensive duties to Kai.
Arsenal’s offensive rhythm was flowing well now. The players weren’t shying away from physical contact anymore.
The battle in the final third was fierce, brutal, and even. Kai noticed the referee had brought the whistle to his lips multiple times.
Then came the chance—Arsenal forced a corner.
“Hey! Up top!” Arteta called, motioning for Kai to join the aerial challenge.
Kai took off immediately.
His assigned spot was central—not necessarily to score, but to act as a decoy, draw defenders, and clear space for teammates.
Arteta stepped up to take the corner.
Kai’s eyes scanned the box. At the same time, he jostled for position, engaging in shoulder-to-shoulder battles in the packed crowd.
In the chaos, he even felt someone pinching him.
The whistle blew.
Arteta delivered.
The ball curled into the area in a high arc.
Suarez went up first, clashing with several United players. He got a touch, just enough to redirect the ball.
Kai had already started drifting toward the back post due to his Foresight.
All eyes were locked on the cluster fighting in the center. No one noticed him slipping away.
He reached the far post and leapt.
It wasn’t a high jump, but it was perfectly timed.
“Suarez gets a piece of it—it’s falling to Kai!!”
Everything stopped.
Arsenal fans rose halfway from their seats, fists clenched, breath caught in their chests.
They saw him, Kai, in the air, twisting his head toward the ball.
The movement was wide and clean.
The ball skimmed the post and dropped into the net.
De Gea didn’t even move.
Whoosh!
The net rippled.
85th minute. Arsenal scored again!
From trailing to pulling ahead—two goals in a flash!
Bedlam. Absolute bedlam.
Boom!!
The Emirates exploded.
Those half-sitting fans now leapt to their feet, arms raised, pouring their voices into the night.
From equalizing to leading—it all felt unreal.
They were beating Manchester United. At home.
And the Red Devils? They were leaving empty-handed.
Kai landed and whipped his head around—just to make sure.
Yes. It was in.
He turned and charged toward the corner flag.
His arms stretched wide, face twisted with emotion, white gauze now tinged crimson from his reopened cut.
None of it mattered.
They were in front.
He had scored.
Kai reached the corner, jumped, came down hard, and pounded his chest with both hands.
“Come on! Let’s hear it! Where are the cheers?!”
WAAAAHHHH!!!
The crowd answered with a roar.
In the stands, fans leaned over the barriers, stretching out their arms like they were trying to grab him, to connect with the man who just made their dream real.
The noise surged through the stadium like a hurricane.
And in that moment, Kai stood alone, every eye on him.
He stared into the crowd, blood on his brow, fire in his gaze.
A warrior in the heart of battle.
A bloody, glorious fight.
...
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