The next second, Tevez suddenly felt the pressure on his back vanish—like the weight had been lifted.
Kai had exploded forward with unexpected speed, darting around him and leaping high into the air.
"Damn it!"
Tevez instinctively tried to jump too—but he was a beat too slow.
Kai was already airborne. He nudged Tevez aside with a subtle elbow movement, denying him any chance to contest the ball.
Kai made clean contact with the ball mid-air and directed it smoothly to Arteta.
As he landed, Kai turned with a grin and said to Tevez, "Don't even think about getting past me today."
Tevez's eyes flared.
Kai turned away, sprinting back into position.
Tevez stood there, staring at his back in frustration. He had to admit, Kai's timing had been perfect. He moved just as Tevez was about to act.
Martin Taylor: "Manchester City go long, looking for Tevez... Kai steps up—he's going for the challenge... Wait—he's skipped around him! Superb interception!"
Alan Smith: "Tevez tried to use his physicality, but Kai was clever—didn't engage head-on."
Martin Taylor (laughing): "And to be fair, I'm not sure Tevez has the edge in height or strength either!"
The two commentators began to banter—typical of Sky's setup, with each giving a different view to keep things lively and balanced for fans of both sides.
"Brilliant!"
"That's it, Kai! That's how you play it!"
"Shut that Argentine Scar-neck wannabe down!"
"Come on, Gunners!"
The Arsenal fans erupted in cheers.
Kai's first interception wasn't just solid—it was sharp. It signaled he was dialed in, fully locked into the rhythm of the game.
Arsenal regained possession and began stringing passes together on the ground.
Kai was right in the mix.
Koscielny sent the ball his way—just as Tevez came charging in again like a wild bull.
Out of the corner of his eye, Kai spotted him. Instead of pushing forward, he braced.
Boom!
The two collided hard. Both grunted from the impact.
But Kai had anticipated it. He regained his balance faster, shifted his weight, and used the arch of his right foot to roll the ball laterally behind his left.
In one fluid motion, he pivoted and pushed off his standing leg—bursting away from Tevez.
He took two confident strides, then slipped the ball over to Cazorla.
As he ran, he glanced over his shoulder at Tevez and grinned again. "Told you—you're not getting the ball off me."
Tevez looked the more determined.
On the Arsenal bench, Pat Rice chuckled at the display. Turning to Wenger, he said, "Not the prettiest move, but effective as hell."
Wenger nodded. "He's using every strength he's got—clean execution, confident play."
Pat Rice added thoughtfully, "Beginning of the season, he couldn't even hold the ball under pressure. Always relied on one-touch passing. Now? He's facing top opposition and handling it with composure. He's come a long way."
Wenger nodded again, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
On the pitch, the game was heating up.
Arsenal and Manchester City were locked in a fierce battle—four shots between them in the first ten minutes.
The tempo was far quicker than most had expected.
And the duel between Kai and Tevez? Still going strong.
They'd clashed physically countless times already, neither backing down.
Tevez was starting to get frustrated.
Kai matched him in strength, and without a proper run-up, Tevez couldn't do much to overpower him.
Worse still, Kai kept anticipating his movements—cutting out passes, intercepting cleanly.
Tevez had taken more losses than wins since kickoff.
Watching Kai constantly tailing him, Tevez grumbled, "Hey, Aguero's open!"
Kai ignored him completely.
Tevez took off suddenly, trying to throw him off with a fake sprint.
But Kai didn't flinch. Didn't even move.
After a few steps, Tevez jogged back in defeat.
This guy wasn't buying any of it.
Tevez looked down, slightly discouraged.
Meanwhile, Kai fixed his eyes on the opposition half.
The light shifted slightly, and the outlines on the field seemed to blur with water.
He heard a light crackle in his ears.
Kai tilted his head to the sky.
"It's starting to rain."
...
The rain was starting to come down harder now, and the increasingly wet pitch was making ball control a real challenge.
For a team like Arsenal—built around crisp, constant passing—it meant extra effort just to keep things moving cleanly.
Kai kept jogging lightly to stay warm. In weather like this, letting your body cool down could spell trouble fast.
Across the pitch, everyone had picked up the pace, adapting instinctively to the new rhythm set by the rain.
At this point, Manchester City were playing it safe, knocking the ball around the back while looking for an opening. They kept swinging it from one flank to the other, trying to stretch Arsenal's shape.
The ball made its way to Yaya Touré. He turned, looked up, and didn't release it right away.
David Silva made a short run in front of him, calling for the pass—but Touré looked further, spotting Nasri breaking forward on the far side.
There was a pocket of space—just enough.
Touré didn't hesitate. He swept his foot through the ball, which skipped low across the wet pitch, splashing up water as it zipped toward that open lane.
Kai had been keeping one eye on Touré.
As soon as he saw the intent, he took off toward the space ahead of Nasri.
But then— due to Foresight, he stopped abruptly.
A second later, he sprinted diagonally, changing course mid-stride.
Martin Taylor: "Touré's gone for the through ball—he's found the space on Arsenal's right... Nasri's off! Can he get there?"
Alan Smith: "Wait—has it held up?!"
Martin, eyes wide. "It's stopped! The ball's stuck in the puddle! Nasri slammed the brakes, but someone's beaten him to it—Kai!!"
Kai flew past Nasri, darted to where the ball had died, scooped it up cleanly, and took off the other way.
Alan: "Arsenal! Counterattack!!"
The rain stung his face, soaking his kit, but Kai sprinted into the downpour and pushed forward.
All around him, Arsenal players snapped into motion—charging ahead like a coiled spring finally released.
Kai wasn't sprinting full tilt, but the timing of his move had given him a head start. He sliced right through City's midfield.
By the time he looked up, he was already just outside the box, cutting in from the right.
Suárez, Walcott, and Podolski were flooding into the area, tangling up City's back line.
Kai slowed slightly, glanced toward the box, and sold a quick fake like he might cross.
Zabaleta bit and lunged in.
Kai chopped the ball away from him, took two short touches to reset, then swung his foot and curled a low diagonal pass into the area.
At the same time, he shouted—
"Cazorla! Hit it!"
Cazorla arrived on cue, didn't bother to settle, and let fly with his left.
The ball zipped just off the wet grass—right under Kompany's legs.
Kompany spun around just in time to see Joe Hart diving...
But it was too late.
Alan Smith (roaring): "Unbelievable! Kai was first to react to that puddled ball! And look at the runway he had—City were caught out, and he just kept driving!"
Martin Taylor: "He didn't panic. Waited for the moment. And then that reverse pass—inch perfect."
Alan Smith: "And Cazorla—what a hit! That's what you call delivering under pressure!"
Martin Taylor: "Arsenal take the lead in the 21st minute, and they won't mind this rain one bit now!"
As Martin Taylor's voice echoed, the Emirates exploded.
Arsenal fans leapt to their feet, fists in the air, celebrating like thunder through the stands.
"One-nil to the Arsenal,
One-nil to the Arsenal,
One-nil to the Arsenal,
One-nil to the Arsenal."
Soaked to the bone, Wenger burst from the dugout with his arms raised. Pat Rice followed close behind, clapping hard, smiling widely.
The coaches didn't care about the rain. Not with a goal like that.
On the pitch, Cazorla sprinted straight to Kai and leapt into his arms.
Kai laughed and caught him with ease.
The goal lifted the entire squad.
...
The match resumed.
City came back angry.
They pushed harder now, their attacks growing more direct. In the wet and unpredictable conditions, it was starting to tilt in their favor.
Kai could feel the strain.
Arsenal's trademark passing rhythm was cracking. Every touch felt like a gamble.
Too many passes, too much control—those were the first things to collapse when the pitch got slick.
City, meanwhile, kept things simple. Sit deep. Strike fast.
And it was working.
Tevez and Agüero were pressing relentlessly.
Kai could feel the weight. The back line was holding—but just barely.
Then, disaster struck.
Monreal received a return ball from Kai and looked to switch it inside to Koscielny.
But as he went to pass, his standing foot slid out from under him. He tumbled awkwardly.
Agüero saw it. He pounced.
Monreal, in desperation, tried to head the ball away while on the ground.
But Agüero was quicker—he got there first, poked the ball ahead, and broke into the box.
At that moment, every Arsenal fan held their breath.
They prayed Aguero wouldn't score.
But the Argentine forward didn't hesitate. He took the shot with ruthless precision.
The ball scraped past the near post and nestled into the net.
39th minute. Manchester City had capitalized on Monreal's error and pulled level.
Monreal stood frozen, staring at the goal, panic flooding his chest.
Szczęsny shot up from the ground in frustration and started marching toward him, shouting.
But before he could get close, a pair of strong hands stopped him.
"Wojciech,"
Szczęsny spun around, ready to snap, but when he saw who it was, his anger faded. Kai met his eyes and nodded toward Monreal.
"He knows. Let me handle it."
Szczęsny hesitated, then sighed, shook his head, and walked away, still muttering under his breath.
Kai turned and approached Monreal, who looked crushed.
It was the kind of mistake that could haunt a player—especially at this level.
"Hey," Kai said, coming up beside him. "You still want to play?"
Monreal looked up, nodded numbly.
"Then get on with it. Don't let this eat you up. Everyone messes up. What matters is how you respond."
Kai slung an arm over his shoulder and pointed toward Aguero.
"See him?"
Monreal nodded again, eyes still downcast.
"That's your target. You've got 51 minutes left. Don't let him get another one. This is your shot to turn it around."
Monreal finally looked at him, voice low. "I'm sorry."
"You don't need to say that to me—or anyone else," Kai replied firmly. "What you do from now on speaks louder than any apology. Forget what anyone says—prove yourself. I believe in you."
Monreal took a deep breath and straightened up. "I won't mess up again."
Kai grinned. "If you do, Arsene might bench you next time. So yeah—better not!"
As Kai jogged away, Monreal watched him go, clenched his fists, and then raised both hands.
Smack!
He slapped himself across the face, leaving clear red prints on each cheek.
The sting woke something up in him.
He locked eyes with Aguero.
Martin Taylor: "Monreal's slip gave City their equaliser—and Arsenal couldn't protect their lead until the break."
The game rolled on. Fortunately, the rain had eased up slightly.
But the pitch was still soggy in places. The puddles hadn't drained, and the ball continued to get stuck or slowed down in random spots.
Arsenal's passing game was still disrupted.
But defensively, they'd regrouped well.
Kai had completely shut Tevez down.
On the left, Aguero's repeated attempts to exploit the wing were met with strong resistance from Monreal and Ramsey, keeping City from taking the lead.
The match settled into a stalemate.
Moments later, the referee blew for half-time.
1–1.
As the players trotted off, towels were being handed out at the tunnel entrance by the coaching staff.
Kai accepted his, peeled off his rain-soaked shirt, and quickly dried off.
...
Inside the dressing room, fresh kits waited in each locker.
Kai slipped into a clean jersey and pulled on the warm-up coat handed over by the coach to stay warm.
All around him, teammates were doing the same—some grabbing bananas from the support staff and devouring them quickly.
Bananas, packed with about 110 calories, 30 grams of carbs, and a good hit of potassium, were perfect for mid-match recovery. They helped prevent cramping and kept energy levels stable.
Kai took one and ate it in a few bites.
"How's the body holding up?"
Pat Rice approached and knelt beside him, briefly checking his bare feet.
Kai shook his head. "All good."
Pat gave a short nod. "Stay sharp out there. Keep yourself safe."
Kai nodded again, then turned his eyes toward Wenger.
The manager was already speaking, laying out the adjustments for the second half.
Kai listened closely.
The battle wasn't over.