Goodison Park briefly fell silent, broken only by the cheers from the away end. Arsenal supporters who had been slightly nervous before kickoff now relaxed, confidence flooding back after that goal.
Look at the way they scored.
Calm. Efficient. Ruthless.
On the touchline, Arsène Wenger applauded softly, clearly pleased. The goal wasn't just about finishing—it reflected the structure and rhythm he wanted.
Le Kai's influence was spreading through the team.
Wenger had noticed it over the past two seasons. Arsenal players rarely stayed out of form for long anymore. Even when confidence dipped, recovery came quickly. New signings—whether it was Mathieu Flamini earlier or now Di Maria—slotted into the system with remarkable ease.
Wenger had wondered about it before. He suspected Le Kai played a role, even if he couldn't quite explain how.
But results were results.
"Very good," Wenger murmured, smiling broadly.
It had been a while since the veteran manager smiled like that. The lines on his face had deepened over the years, shaped by pressure and uncertainty. Now, for the first time in a long while, the team felt like it was moving forward with purpose.
Arsenal were riding the momentum. In a turbulent Premier League and an unforgiving Europe, they looked ready to sail.
. . .
On the pitch, Le Kai hooked the ball cleanly from right to left. Romelu Lukaku tried to close him down, but Le Kai stepped forward, used his shoulder to shield the ball, and calmly fed Cazorla.
Lukaku frowned, frustration starting to show.
Arsenal's grip on midfield tightened.
When Le Kai began receiving and distributing freely, it was always a bad sign for the opposition.
When Le Kai was comfortable, Arsenal were comfortable.
This was the version of Arsenal seen at the end of last season—and now it was back.
Everton grew restless. Physical challenges increased as they tried to disrupt the rhythm. Arsenal weren't a team known for brute force, but they were resilient.
Cazorla, even when nudged off balance, still found a pass. Lose the ball, and an Arsenal shirt was immediately there to recover it.
Under this relentless pressure, Everton struggled to breathe.
Le Kai acted as the central hub, dictating tempo with calm authority. Compared to the raw defender he had been two years ago, his evolution was clear. Now he played the Premier League with ease, every understated pass strengthening Arsenal's control.
Everton, meanwhile, slowly lost the midfield battle.
"Damn it…" Barry muttered through clenched teeth.
Chasing shadows wears anyone down. Again and again, he tried to win the ball, only to find himself a step late, played around, and toyed with it.
His frustration boiled—but he forced it down.
This was the Premier League. Mental strength mattered as much as legs.
Hard tackles, fierce duels—but composure still ruled.
They were trying to lean on that familiar Premier League mindset—this is our league, our rhythm—using physical pressure and borderline challenges to gain a psychological edge.
But in the Premier League, that trick doesn't always really work.
Alan Smith observed calmly, "This is the danger when you assume physicality alone will tilt the balance. Everyone out there is used to it."
Out on the pitch, Gareth Barry fixed his eyes on the Spaniard dancing with the ball. If he were being honest, he wanted nothing more than to fly into a tackle and wipe him out.
Cazorla's style was infuriating.
Then Barry glanced behind him—Le Kai was hovering just off Cazorla's shoulder.
With that kind of cover, Cazorla was playing with freedom.
We have to win it back.
Barry clenched his jaw and surged forward.
Le Kai saw it coming, but he didn't think Barry would get near the ball.
And he was right.
Cazorla's footwork was dazzling—quick touches, sharp turns, low center of gravity. Barry lunged once, twice, but never got close.
Still, Barry wasn't alone. He shouted, pulling a teammate over.
Suddenly, Cazorla was boxed in—two blue shirts closing from either side.
"Now they've trapped him," Martin Taylor said. "That's better from Everton."
Cazorla steadied himself under the pressure, absorbing the bumps, eyes scanning.
Then he leaned back slightly, using Barry's body for balance, and dragged the ball left, trying to slip through the gap.
Barry stayed tight. No space. Not an inch.
So Cazorla changed his mind instantly.
He stabbed the ball forward, right between another Everton player's legs.
At the same moment, Le Kai exploded forward, swept up the ball in stride, and was gone.
"Nice," Le Kai muttered as he passed.
Cazorla went down, Barry tumbling with him. As Barry tried to scramble back up, Cazorla subtly tugged at him, just enough.
"Shit…" Barry hissed.
Too late.
By the time he regained his feet, Le Kai was already at the edge of the box, and Everton's defensive shape was unraveling.
"Arsenal have broken the press again," Rob Hawthorne noted. "That's composure under pressure."
Le Kai drove into the penalty area and slipped the ball across to Suarez.
Suarez darted diagonally, hunting for an angle.
Distin stayed glued to him, body tight, blocking every route to the goal.
Forced into it, Suarez took the shot anyway.
The ball struck Distin's foot and deflected out of play.
Corner to Arsenal.
Everton had survived—but only just.
Cazorla jogged over to take it.
Le Kai glanced back at Mathieu Flamini.
Flamini gave a nod. I've got the cover.
Le Kai nodded and moved into the box, ready to attack the ball.
Cazorla initially looked for Le Kai—but then noticed Di Maria sprinting sharply along the edge of the area, eyes locked on the near post.
He understood immediately.
The corner came in low and fast, around chest height.
Di Maria cut sharply at a right angle, darted toward the near post, leaned forward, and flicked his head.
The ball flashed toward the goal.
Goodison Park gasped.
Clang!
Off the post.
Before Everton supporters could even breathe again, a red-and-white shirt burst into the frame.
First time—strike toward the far corner.
Clang!
Crossbar this time, but the ball crossed the line.
For a split second, Goodison Park went silent.
Then the away end exploded as the Arsenal player sprinted away in celebration, arms outstretched, swallowed by teammates.
. . .
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