Vermaelen steered his car down the familiar road to Colney Training Base — a route he'd taken hundreds of times before.
But this drive felt different.
It should've been a happy occasion, his long-awaited return after half a year out. Yet, there was no joy in him today.
His transfer was already confirmed. After several quiet discussions with the coaching staff, he'd begun exploring new options. Barcelona had shown interest — and that was where he was heading.
Once upon a time, that would've thrilled him. A chance to play alongside legends, to compete for the Champions League. But now?
Now, he just wanted to stay.
But he couldn't.
The truth was simple — he was standing in Kai's way.
And this wasn't something sentiment could fix, not even Wenger's affection or persuasion.
Arsenal had found its new cornerstone in midfield. Everything about the club's rebuild revolved around Kai's growth. Anyone — even the captain — who might disrupt that rise had to step aside.
That was football. Ruthless, inevitable.
Still, as Vermaelen thought about it, a bitter taste filled his mouth. If he could go back, he wouldn't have taken the captain's armband after Van Persie's departure. He'd have stayed as a quiet soldier, a loyal supporter, and been part of this Arsenal team's climb to the top.
When he reached Colney, a crowd of fans had already gathered outside the gates — a sight that had become increasingly common these days.
Arsenal's resurgence had ignited something special in North London. The supporters lingered outside the training ground almost every morning, singing, waving scarves, hungry for another glimpse of their heroes.
"Thomas! Thomas is here!" someone shouted.
In seconds, they surrounded his car, pounding lightly on the windows.
"Thomas! We're top of the league!"
"We're going all the way, mate — Champions League this year!"
"Come on, Captain! Get fit soon and lift the trophy with us!"
Their cheers were warm, genuine, and full of belief.
Vermaelen smiled faintly and waved, but inside, that smile hurt.
He parked, stepped out, and took a slow breath before walking toward the dressing room. The noise from inside was unmistakable — laughter, shouting, energy.
He paused briefly at the door, steadying himself, then pushed it open.
"Boys!" he called with a grin. "I'm back!"
For half a heartbeat, the room went still. Then it erupted.
"Captain!"
"You're finally back!"
"Hah, Kai is going to be restrained now."
"Careful, Kai's been bullying everyone while you were gone!"
"Oi! You're the one who keeps losing the ball!" came the mock retort.
Laughter filled the room again. The atmosphere was electric, vibrant — a far cry from the tense, uncertain team he'd left months ago.
Kai turned from his locker, grinning, and walked over.
"Welcome back, Captain."
The two shared a quick hug. Vermaelen's tone softened. "You've done brilliantly, Kai. I mean that."
Kai shook his head, smiling modestly. "Just doing my job."
Vermaelen clapped his hands to get everyone's attention. "Alright, it's not time to relax just yet. Six games left. What's the goal?"
He looked around the room expectantly, then turned toward Kai.
Kai raised his arm and shouted, "Titles!"
The room exploded.
"Titles!"
"Titles!"
"Titles!"
Players leaped from the benches, cheering, clapping, and shouting the words like a war cry.
Yes — that was the goal.
They were so close now. The Champions League and Premier League titles were both within touching distance.
...
A few days later, on April 6th, Arsenal arrived in Liverpool to face Everton at Goodison Park.
The Toffees had been outstanding this season. Even after Moyes' departure, they had remained fierce and disciplined. Lukaku's arrival had added power and presence to their attack, and their results spoke for themselves — seven straight league wins, fourth place on the table, and a genuine shot at the Champions League spots.
Everton's fans could sense something historic in the making. For years, they'd lived in Liverpool's shadow — watching their city rivals bask in glory while they lingered in mid-table obscurity.
Not anymore.
They wanted to rise, to prove they could challenge the giants.
For them, this was more than just a league fixture — it was a statement match.
When the whistle blew, Everton came out swinging.
They pressed high, tackled hard, and played with fire. The home crowd roared behind them. They wanted to rattle Arsenal — to prove that these Londoners weren't as invincible as people claimed.
But soon, reality hit them.
Every challenge was met head-on. Every tackle was returned in kind.
Bang!
Naismith collided brutally with Rosický. The Czech midfielder stumbled but managed to hook the ball away before hitting the turf, sending it safely out of bounds.
The referee's whistle shrieked. Players surrounded each other, shoving lightly, shouting.
Naismith stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head before turning around and taunting, "So, the boys now fancy being men, do they?"
He'd always enjoyed bullying Arsenal—press them hard enough and they'd crumble, that was the rule. They'd usually glare back but never bite.
But this time, Rosicky got up with a casual grin. "Men, huh? Why don't you come and find out?"
Then he thrust his hips forward in a cheeky gesture that made a few teammates laugh.
Compared to that scuffle, the duel between Kai and Lukaku on the other side was something else entirely—raw, brutal, and almost primal.
The Belgian striker was heavier and more muscular, but Kai used positioning and anticipation to gain control before the ball even dropped.
If Rosicky and Naismith's clash was like two pebbles colliding, then Kai and Lukaku were two boulders smashing together, sparks flying.
As soon as Kai got the ball, Lukaku charged in to press.
The moment their bodies met, both grunted from the impact.
"Ugh!"
"Hmph!"
Kai braced himself, one foot pinning the ball as he used his powerful core to shield it, nudging it left and right just enough to deny Lukaku a touch.
But the Belgian's sheer strength still forced Kai backward, inch by inch, toward the sideline.
Just when it looked like Kai was about to lose balance, he suddenly loosened up, feinted left, and shifted his weight.
Lukaku followed instinctively—only for Kai to pivot sharply, dragging the ball right and spinning away cleanly.
Lukaku could only shake his head with a wry smile as Kai strode off with the ball.
"Beautifully done!" said Martin Taylor on Sky Sports. "Kai's development in tight control and ball retention this season has been remarkable. He used to rely on quick one-touch passes to get out of pressure, but now he's capable of wriggling free with composure."
Alan Smith added, "And defensively, he's already elite in both the Premier League and Europe. Add this kind of ball-carrying and passing range, and you've got a complete midfielder in the making."
After slipping free, Kai looked up and ignored the safe option to Cazorla. Instead, he sent a crisp mid-range pass toward Walcott.
Walcott glanced back, saw the pressure coming, and leaped to nod it back.
Kai adjusted his position, eyes scanning the pitch as the ball dropped toward him.
He caught Suarez's movement up front—already twitching for a run.
Kai didn't hesitate. He let the ball fall, shaping as though to trap it, which made Everton's midfield hesitate to press.
Then—suddenly—he turned sideways and struck through the ball with his right instep.
It flew low and fast, skimming the grass, slicing through Everton's midfield and defensive lines in one motion.
Suarez timed his run perfectly, bursting past Stones to collect it cleanly.
"Suarez—one-on-one!" Alan Smith called.
Suarez drove into the box, looked up once, and saw Howard charging out.
Without panic, he nudged the ball and lifted it lightly—an elegant chip that arced over the keeper's dive.
Stones slid in desperately but was a split second too late; the ball brushed his boot and dropped neatly into the net.
Goodison Park fell into stunned silence.
In the 65th minute, Arsenal took the lead—Suarez the scorer, Kai the architect.
...
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