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Chapter 120: The Battle Begins
🕑 Added 2025-08-11 14:45:53 +0000 UTCMartin Taylor (Sky Sports): “Aston Villa on the ball… they’ve over-committed! Sagna cuts it out, slides it into Kai! Ohhh… that touch with the back of the boot—classy!”
Out on the pitch, Kai positioned himself just off the centre circle, scanning left and right like a radar before the pass even arrived. He already knew someone was charging in from behind, pressing up tight to stop him from turning.
Kai received it on the half-turn, back to goal. In that split second, his eyes darted towards Podolski, making a run. Without hesitation, his right foot extended, toes hooking the ball delicately as he leaned his body slightly to the left—selling the defender on the wrong idea.
The Aston Villa marker bit on the feint, stepping left. But Kai had other plans. He flicked his leg over, catching the ball at waist height with the back of his boot and stabbing it diagonally forward into space.
It was inch-perfect. Podolski found it right at his stride. He didn’t dwell on it—just laid it off first-time to Walcott, who had ghosted into the channel.
One pass, two passes, and Aston Villa's defense was shredded like paper.
Walcott darted into the box, wound up, and lashed it into the far corner.
Alan Smith (Sky Sports): “GOOOAAAAL! Theo Walcott doubles Arsenal’s lead! His second of the season—and what a way to get it! That’s also Arsenal’s second of the afternoon, and you have to give the Gunners their flowers for such an intricate play.”
Martin Taylor: “Absolutely. After the disappointment at Stoke-on-Trent last weekend, this is exactly the response Arsenal fans wanted to see.”
The Emirates erupted. Fans were on their feet, roaring approval. Kai, meanwhile, exhaled deeply, almost more relief than joy. Last week’s bruising loss at Aston was still fresh in his mind.
That match had been a nightmare—aerial bombardment from start to finish. Stoke’s set-piece monsters—four players over 1.9 metres, plus Peter Crouch—had battered Arsenal’s box. Every corner felt like a penalty kick against them.
Kai and Mertesacker, Arsenal’s tallest defenders, had done their best—Mertesacker relying on sheer height, Kai using timing and anticipation to leap early—but there’s only so much you can stop. Arsenal still fell 2–1, and with it, their winning streak.
Now, 78 minutes into this match, Arsenal’s two-goal cushion allowed Wenger to give Kai a rest. Since his last injury, the manager had been cautious, pulling him off early whenever possible.
On the bench, Pat handed him a water bottle.
“You’ve stopped taking those long-range shots,” Pat remarked with a raised brow.
Kai blinked. “Haven’t I had a few?”
“Nope,” Pat replied, dead serious. “Not a single one today.”
Kai chuckled sheepishly. “Guess I’ve been holding back a bit.”
“Well, the pass was brilliant,” Pat said with a grin. “But get back to practicing those rockets—you still haven’t scored from distance yet.”
Kai laughed. “Fair enough.”
The final whistle blew—2–0 Arsenal. The Gunners ended the fifth round of the Premier League with four wins and one loss, sitting atop the table on 12 points, edging rivals Tottenham on goal difference. Liverpool, Chelsea, and Manchester City lurked just behind on 10.
It was Arsenal’s best start in years, but the real test would come later in the season, when injuries and fatigue usually derailed them. For now, though, the mood was upbeat—especially with the Champions League about to begin.
Group F was brutal: Marseille, Dortmund, Napoli. Every opponent was a league contender in their own right. Arsenal’s first test? A trip to France to face Marseille.
...
In the tactical room, Wenger tapped the projector screen, where a small figure’s name was highlighted.
“Against Marseille, we contain this man,” Wenger said firmly.
Kai’s eyes followed the image—Mathieu Valbuena. The French national team’s midfield spark plug, nicknamed Le Petit Vélo. Quick feet, lethal passes, and a knack for squeezing a killer ball through the tiniest of gaps—a true jack-of-all-trades in the engine room.
What makes him truly dangerous, however, is his mastery of short, penetrating passes that slice open defences in an instant. His vision in tight spaces can turn the smallest gaps into golden opportunities.
Of course, outside the pitch, Valbuena is perhaps most infamously remembered for a sex-tape blackmail scandal—an affair that ultimately saw both him and Karim Benzema sidelined from the French national team for a lengthy period in the future.
Clap, clap, clap!
Arsène Wenger’s applause snapped Kai back from his thoughts.
The manager was looking straight at him, his voice calm yet carrying a weight of expectation.
“Kai, I’m entrusting him to you.”
Kai simply nodded. There was no surprise in his expression—this was exactly what he expected.
Use me for the tough assignments. Call on me when we need to win.
Within Arsenal’s current set-up, when it comes to nullifying dangerous opponents, Kai is the linchpin. If he falters, the defensive stability of the entire side can unravel.
Yet there is no lack of faith in him from his teammates. This season, Kai’s improvement has been impossible to ignore. Even though Wenger has been assigning him predominantly defensive responsibilities, there’s a quiet curiosity in the squad: What might happen if Kai were unleashed as a full tactical core again, free from defensive shackles?
The tactical briefing continued for over an hour before finally coming to a close.
...
Meanwhile, over in southern France, Marseille’s head coach Élie Baup was deep in his preparations for the upcoming Champions League clash against Arsenal.
Baup, who took over from Didier Deschamps in 2012, had earned plaudits the previous season by guiding Marseille to a Ligue 1 runners-up spot. That success elevated his standing among supporters and pundits alike—but the challenge ahead was daunting.
Facing a team of Arsenal's calibre was never straightforward, and Baup knew it.
Being French himself, he held a particular respect for Arsène Wenger—a man whose managerial achievements cast a long shadow in European football. He might not yet match the Professor’s legacy, but pride and ambition meant he had no intention of conceding the fight before it began.
The question was: where to begin?
Had this been Arsenal from two or three seasons ago, Baup would have felt far more confident in crafting a specific plan. But the present-day Gunners were a far trickier prospect.
In attack, they boasted a dangerous mix—Suárez, Podolski, Walcott, Cazorla—all capable of unlocking a defence in their way. On the other side of the ball, there was the interim captain, the anchor, the man Baup could not ignore: Kai.
Baup had done his homework. He’d studied the Chinese midfielder’s style closely and concluded that even a technician like Valbuena might struggle to bypass him directly. The same applied to Gignac and Payet—both potent threats, yet often neutralised by Kai’s anticipation and sheer positional discipline.
This was no ordinary 19-year-old. His play was composed, calculated, and ruthlessly effective. Steady when required, decisive when it mattered, and swift when the moment called for it.
If Marseille were to win, their forwards would need to find a way past Arsenal’s number 4. Without that, everything else was meaningless.
Baup's mind settled reluctantly on his best hope—Payet and André Ayew. Perhaps their pace and movement could stretch Kai’s influence, force him into uncomfortable areas. It was far from a perfect plan, but there were no better alternatives.
Leaning back in his chair, he let his gaze drift to the ceiling. His mind’s eye travelled beyond the plaster and steel, through the evening sky over Marseille.
In his imagination, a vast aircraft cut through the clouds, its engines thundering. Inside sat the Premier League giants, Arsenal—on their way to the south of France, bringing with them not only skill and form, but also the quiet, looming presence of the man he had to find a way to stop.
