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Chapter 104: FA Cup Final 3
🕑 Added 2025-07-25 14:56:38 +0000 UTC"I... need some support."
Tevez muttered in frustration toward David Silva.
He was unhappy with his performance in the first half.
Under Kai’s relentless marking, his stats were a complete mess.
He hadn’t expected this kid to improve so much in just half a season.
But Silva didn’t even look at him.
In his mind, this was something Tevez needed to sort out for himself. If a striker starts whining for help after getting ball service and can't break through, that’s on him.
"Defensively, that’s expected. But up front, the strikers need to step it up."
Mancini glanced at Tevez—pointed, deliberate. It was clear he wasn’t impressed.
He didn’t care what Tevez’s issues were. For him, strikers were there to solve problems, not complain about them.
And Mancini himself was running out of time.
After the embarrassment in the Champions League group stage, the club had started to lose faith in him.
If they didn’t win the FA Cup, he knew he’d probably be out.
Hearing his manager’s words, Tevez’s face turned more sour.
...
Out on the pitch, the light rain kept falling.
Arsenal and City fans continued to trade chants and insults, voices echoing from one side of the stands to the other.
Tempers were flaring.
In the mixed zones where fans met, there were even a few scuffles.
Thankfully, security stepped in to pull the rowdy ones out—otherwise, things might’ve gotten ugly.
But it just showed how much was riding on this match.
As the break ended, players from both sides returned from the tunnel.
The second half was about to begin.
..
Five minutes in, the rain began to come down harder.
Players started grumbling and shouting in frustration.
The cold rain lashed down as both teams battled fiercely in the storm.
"The intensity's cranked up a notch since the restart. Two yellow cards in ten minutes already!"
Martin Taylor’s voice came through the Sky Sports feed.
Alan Smith added, "You can tell—both teams know there’s no room for error now. This is war."
BANG!
"F**k!"
"Get off me!"
Kai and Tevez collided again.
Both had been racing toward the same landing spot. Shoulders crashed, arms jostled, each trying to throw the other off balance.
Neither gave an inch.
In the end, Kai managed to poke the ball towards the touch.
Kai’s breath came in heavy gasps, each exhale misting in the cold air.
The rain, the soaked pitch, the nonstop collisions—it was draining every ounce of energy from the players.
The was a momentary pause on the pitch, the dugouts were moving into gear for substitutions.
Kai took a few deep breaths, steadying himself.
He knew it wasn’t just him. City players were feeling it too. Arsenal’s midfield was burning out.
This was the final stretch.
The last gauntlet before the title.
Only one team would cross the line.
Only the side with true grit and determination could make it.
Kai took one more deep breath, then suddenly shouted:
"Stay locked in!"
The shout rang out.
Several Arsenal players, hunched over or squatting, looked up instinctively.
"Don't let the weather beat you. Don't let the pitch beat you. And don’t let City beat you!"
"We're Arsenal! We’re the Gunners!"
Kai clapped his hands, rallying the troops, "Get up! The match isn’t over yet!"
Their eyes burned again.
Exhausted, yes—but not defeated.
Championships don’t come easy.
Only the determined get to see the rainbow after the storm.
They weren’t giving up now.
"Substitutions coming up!"
Both Wenger and Mancini moved quickly.
Wenger called: "Arshavin!"
Mancini responded: "Dzeko, Milner!"
At the 60-minute mark, both sides made their changes.
Arsenal swapped Podolski for Arshavin.
City pulled off Tevez and Nasri, sending on Dzeko and Milner.
Both benches showed their hand, but City’s depth was superior.
For Kai, the good news: Tevez was gone.
The bad news: Dzeko had arrived—and he was no easier assignment.
In the curtain of rain, Kai stood with his hands on his hips, watching Dzeko.
His eyes were sharp—like a hawk locking in on prey.
Dzeko noticed.
Still, he felt confident.
He was fresh. He had energy to burn.
Sure, Kai was good at cutting out plays—but he’d been battling Tevez all match.
Dzeko figured he had the edge now.
But that belief didn’t last long.
City adapted to the downpour with a direct, old-school style.
Long balls out wide. Let Dzeko and Aguero chase.
But it wasn’t working.
This time, Yaya Touré launched a diagonal to the right flank.
Dzeko read it well and took off—sprinting toward the bounce point.
But he wasn’t alone.
Kai was right there with him, stride for stride.
And just before the ball came down, Kai leaned in with a shoulder charge.
Dzeko stumbled back a couple of steps.
Kai, meanwhile, launched himself into the air and twisted mid-flight. His core strength was staggering—leaning back slightly, arms relaxed but controlled, he managed to stay balanced as he directed the ball calmly to Koscielny.
"Ahhhhhhh—!"
Cries of frustration erupted from the Manchester City end as fans clutched their heads in disbelief.
“ Bloody hell! What kind of fitness is this? He spent the first half locking down Tevez and now he’s shackling Dzeko too!”
City supporters were torn between resentment and awe. Kai had disrupted their attack time and time again—and despite the bitterness, there was a hint of reluctant admiration.
Two of the Premier League’s top forwards—Tevez and Dzeko—had both been silenced by the same teenager.
It wasn’t just his positioning or interceptions. It was his relentless energy, his pressing, the way he always seemed to be in the right place at the right time.
He was only 19.
And yet, he was already that strong.
Bang!
Kai landed—hard.
Not on his feet, but flat on the ground. His body hit the soaked turf with a dull thud.
He had executed the clearance, but at the cost of his balance.
Lying there, Kai let out a pained groan.
Rain, sweat, and mud ran across his face as he gritted his teeth, turned over, and pushed himself up using his arms.
The ball was still deep in Arsenal’s half. The danger wasn’t gone yet.
He stumbled a couple of steps, steadying himself, then forced his way back into position.
Only after Koscielny booted the ball clear did Kai finally pause, hands on knees, gasping for air.
Everyone in the stadium saw it.
Arsenal fans didn’t know how else to respond—they simply chanted Kai’s name and applauded with everything they had.
The sea of black away kits erupted.
They bellowed from the stands—
“Who built a wall in the middle of the field?
KAI! KAI!
He don’t dive, he don’t yield!
KAI! KAI!
The Gunners cheer and rivals squeal—
‘Cause Kai’s the boss with boots of steel!
OHHHH KAI!
WHO BUILT THAT WALL?
KAI! KAI!”
The chant swept through the crowd like a tidal wave of emotion.
The Gunners were still fighting.
They were clinging to this match, tooth and nail, clawing their way toward the title.
In the stands, Meadows clenched his jaw tightly, his entire body trembling with emotion, his chest burning with pride.
This—this was football.
This was Arsenal football.
His eyes locked on Kai—the lone figure standing tall in the storm.
So many thoughts and feelings surged inside him.
Champions.
A title that only one team could claim each season.
Only those who battled through adversity, who passed every trial of skill and will, could climb to that podium of glory.
It was never easy.
And now, Arsenal were one step away.
They were giving everything.
Meadows’ breath caught in his throat. He unzipped his jacket, tore it off, and grabbed the massive Arsenal flag he’d carried with him.
Whoosh!
In one sweeping motion, the red-and-white flag unfurled in the driving rain.
Gripping the flagpole tightly, Meadows marched to the front of the stand and began waving it with all his strength, shouting with every ounce of voice he had:
“GO FOR IT!!!—”
“GUNNERS!!!!!!—”
A roar burst out like thunder.
The flag whipped through the rain, splashing droplets side to side.
Whoosh!
Whoosh!
Whoosh!
Rain soaked his bare chest, but Meadows didn’t care. He waved the flag furiously and chanted:
"Good old Arsenal, we're proud to say that name,
While we sing this song, we'll win the game,
We're so proud to say that name,
While we sing this song, we'll win the game."
All around him, the Arsenal fans felt the chills up their spines.
One by one, they rose from their seats. No one sat anymore.
They threw their arms around one another, chanting in unison as flags swirled through the misty air:
Whoosh!
"Good old Arsenal, we're proud to say that name,
While we sing this song, we'll win the game,
We're so proud to say that name,
While we sing this song, we'll win the game."
The synchronized chant drowned out the noise from the City supporters.
Down on the touchline, Arsène Wenger glanced toward the stands.
His eyes settled on Meadows—the man often known for his sharp tongue and wild antics.
A rare smile tugged at the corners of Wenger’s mouth.
Then he turned back to the pitch—and his smile faded as his gaze landed on Kai.
There was a moment of hesitation.
“Ramsey, get warm,” Wenger finally said.
Aaron Ramsey blinked, then quietly rose and began to loosen up.
Out on the field, Kai noticed the movement.
Immediately, he raised his hands high and spread all ten fingers wide, shouting across the pitch:
“Ten minutes! Gaffer—give me ten more!”
Wenger caught it instantly. He paused.
Ten minutes?
For any other player, he might not have entertained the request.
But for Kai?
He was willing to trust.
