After the goal, the shift was clear.
Newcastle United began to rush everything. Passes came quicker but less precise, movement lost its structure, and decisions were made a second too early.
In contrast, Arsenal FC slowed the game down.
With Kai directing things, every phase looked controlled. They chose when to press, when to circulate, and when to break.
Newcastle's early structure had been undone. Each attack now carried urgency, and that urgency made them predictable.
Arsenal waited for those moments.
In the 78th minute, Tomáš Rosický picked up a rushed pass from a press in the final third of Newcastle.
One touch to shift space, another to glide past the first challenge.
Then a quick burst, slipping between two defenders.
The pass came at the right moment.
Alexis Sánchez met it in stride.
Finish.
2–0.
That ended it.
Substitutions followed, minutes ticked by, but the edge was gone.
The final whistle soon came from Lee Mason to end the game.
Arsenal had done the job.
"We've done it again!"
"Love that feeling!"
"High five!"
The mood flipped completely from the first half.
Kai led the group toward the away end, acknowledging the supporters before turning back toward the tunnel.
He walked ahead, wiping sweat from his face, while the others drifted behind, talking and laughing.
Then he turned.
"Back in the dressing room, stretch first, then hit the showers. Pair up, do it properly. Second half of the season is coming, no injuries."
He pointed.
"Jack Wilshere, go see the medical staff. You took a few hits."
A clap of his hands.
"One more thing. No bars. Straight home after we're done."
The reaction was immediate.
"Understood, captain!"
"If Sánchez goes out, I'm reporting him!"
Laughter spread through the group.
Kai let it go with a small smile.
Inside the dressing room, they went through their routines. Stretch, shower, reset. Then onto the bus.
The result pushed Arsenal to 15 wins, 1 draw, 1 loss in 17 matches.
Strong numbers.
Early issues had been addressed quickly. Now the focus shifted forward.
Neither Arsène Wenger nor the squad was willing to let standards drop.
The next target was clear.
UEFA Champions League.
Back at the training ground, Wenger gathered the players. The review moved quickly from this match to what was ahead.
Their Round of 16 opponent was manageable. That allowed them to look further.
The real threats.
Real Madrid CF.
Under Carlo Ancelotti, they were evolving. Cristiano Ronaldo was scoring at a relentless rate, the attack flowing through him with precision.
FC Barcelona.
Even without the MSN trio in this reality, the chemistry between Lionel Messi, Neymar, and Pedro Rodríguez was deadly.
Atlético Madrid.
The most difficult to read. Under Diego Simeone, they pressed, fought, and closed space without pause. A very well-run defensive unit.
From Germany, FC Bayern Munich remained dominant under Pep Guardiola.
Borussia Dortmund still carried danger despite inconsistency.
In France, Paris Saint-Germain had depth and power.
Italy offered Juventus FC, rebuilt and rising again, with names like Paul Pogba, Andrea Pirlo, Arturo Vidal, Carlos Tevez, and Álvaro Morata forming a complete unit.
And from their own league, Chelsea FC.
No introduction needed.
Arsenal had already felt their level.
There were no easy paths ahead.
Arsene Wenger finished his analysis and noticed the shift in the room. The players had gone quiet.
He adjusted immediately.
"Respect the opposition, yes," he said, tone lighter. "But they'll be looking at us the same way."
He let that sit for a moment.
"Perfect group stage in the UEFA Champions League. Fifteen wins, one draw, one loss in the league. Those are facts."
His voice stayed calm.
"They're strong. So are we. Against anyone, we can compete for the win."
That was enough.
Heads lifted. The tension eased, just a bit. The message was simple, and it landed.
This squad was not here to make up numbers.
. . .
After the meeting, Kai drove out with Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain and N'Golo Kanté.
The car stayed quiet for a while.
Then Chamberlain spoke.
"Last season… we went out to Real Madrid CF in the semi-final."
Kai nodded, eyes still on the road.
"This year's final," Chamberlain continued, "Olympiastadion Berlin."
A short pause.
"You thinking about it?" Kai asked.
Chamberlain smiled, a bit restrained. "Of course. Playing there is another question."
Kai didn't answer straight away. He glanced at the mirror.
"And you, N'Golo?"
"I want to play!" Kanté said quickly, leaning forward. "Champions League final… big match!"
Kai smiled faintly.
"First, we get there. It won't be easy."
Kanté nodded, excitement settling into focus. "Then I train more. Captain, tomorrow you teach me long shots."
"No problem."
After dropping them off, Kai returned home. Lights on, a shower again, then rest. No extra work that night. The second half of the season demanded balance as much as effort.
. . .
The next morning, he was back early.
Warm-up done, Kanté was already waiting.
"Captain, long shots!"
Kai rolled the ball under his foot and started.
"First, your dominant foot. When you strike, lock your instep. That controls the direction."
He demonstrated the motion slowly.
"It's not like a pass. You need a quick burst. Your lower leg snaps through the ball."
He set the ball again and pointed down.
"Second, your plant foot. Aim it where you want the shot to go. If this angle is off, everything is off."
Then he stepped back, expression sharpening.
"Finally, strike through it. Clean and strong."
Kanté blinked.
"I… not really understand."
Kai stared at him for a second. "That was clear."
Kanté shook his head. "When should I curl or knuckle?"
Kai paused.
"That… you read yourself."
A brief silence followed.
He exhaled.
"Alright. Time for some help."
Kai turned and waved someone over.
"Pat!"
Pat Rice walked across, already smiling, like he knew what was coming.
Kai stepped aside.
"Your turn."
. . .
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