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Chapter 80: Chelsea vs Arsenal
🕑 Added 2025-07-01 10:38:51 +0000 UTCThe 22nd round of the Premier League is just around the corner: the Blues of Chelsea versus the Gunners of Arsenal.
The tension is mounting, and both sides are deep in preparation.
But in the midst of it all, Chelsea’s manager, Benitez, stirred the pot with comments that quickly became the talk of the press.
“I don’t think we’ll lose to Arsenal at home, so don’t ask me that again. QPR's win at the Bridge was just a fluke. As for Arsenal, they’ve got an 18-year-old at the heart of midfield—my God! I couldn’t even imagine that back when I was at Liverpool!”
One sentence managed to offend both Arsenal and Chelsea supporters.
Arsenal fans were quick to jump to Kai’s defense.
“What’s wrong with being 18?”
“He’s performing well—what’s his age got to do with it?”
And from the Chelsea side, frustration was boiling over for entirely different reasons. Benitez’s habit of reminiscing about his Liverpool days was grating.
Sure, he’d had glory days there—Europa League, Champions League—but that didn’t justify bringing it up every time things weren’t going his way at Chelsea.
Every time he opened with “Back when I was at Liverpool…” the Chelsea faithful rolled their eyes. It was like hearing your new partner go on and on about their ex. Who wouldn’t get annoyed?
And truthfully, his run at Chelsea hadn’t been particularly convincing. Fans were already chanting reminders at him:
“You’re temporary! Don’t forget—you’re temporary!”
Still, Benitez pressed on, oblivious or indifferent. Many fans just wanted him gone. But he seemed to have a silver tongue when it came to the boardroom.
In short, he was becoming a headache.
As for Kai—the unexpected focal point of this latest media circus—he hadn’t anticipated becoming the subject of Benitez’s press conference.
Yes, he was 18. But it’s not like his performances had been poor.
“Hey! Benitez,” Chamberlain began.
Kai waved him off. “Don’t even bring that guy up—what a pain.”
Chamberlain blinked. “So? What do you want to do about it?”
Kai grinned. “What else? Let my feet do the talking. What’s so unbelievable about an 18-year-old being a key player? What, just because I’m ‘temporary’ that means I’m not the core? Please.”
Chamberlain laughed. “Still, this game won’t be easy.”
“What’s there to be afraid of?” Kai shrugged. “If QPR can take three points at Stamford Bridge, why can’t we?”
“That’s not the same!” Chamberlain said, shaking his head.
“It is to me. We’ll hit ‘em on the break and smash ‘em!”
Kai was genuinely fired up.
Benitez was free to say what he wanted, but dragging Kai into it? That crossed a line.
You want to plant a flag before the match? Fine. But don’t be surprised when it’s your flag that gets trampled.
Fat man—get ready to eat those words.
At that moment, Kai felt his fighting spirit surge.
...
January 20th, London, Fulham—Stamford Bridge.
Round 23 of the Premier League: Chelsea vs. Arsenal.
Players from both sides were lined up in the tunnel.
Kai rolled his shoulders, occasionally glancing toward Chelsea’s squad.
They’d been in good form since lifting the Champions League, but the mood lately had soured.
Sure, they thrashed Stoke City 4–0 in the last round. But that home loss to QPR? It still lingered.
Benitez’s position wasn’t stable. Every match could be his last. One more slip-up and he’d likely be shown the door.
“Let’s go, lads!” shouted Vermaelen, their captain, stepping forward.
Kai inhaled deeply and followed.
As they stepped out onto the pitch at Stamford Bridge, they were immediately greeted by a wave of hostile noise.
The booing was relentless.
It pressed down on the Arsenal players, but none of them let it show.
They stood their ground, quietly waiting for kickoff.
The captains shook hands and completed the coin toss.
Chelsea would start with possession.
As Arsenal settled into their half, Kai bounced on his toes, trying to stay loose and alert.
Then his gaze shifted to the far side of the pitch.
Chelsea’s starting XI (4-2-3-1):
GK: Petr Cech
DEF: Azpilicueta, Ivanovic, Cahill, Ashley Cole
H. MID: Ramires, Lampard (C)
A. MID: Hazard, Mata, Oscar
FW: Torres
Arsenal’s starting XI (4-3-3):
GK: Szczesny
DEF: Sagna, Mertesacker, Vermaelen (C), Gibbs
MID: Ramsey, Kai, Chamberlain
FW: Podolski, Suarez, Walcott
“And welcome to Sky Sports’ Premier League coverage,” came the voice of Martin Taylor, “We’ve got a classic London derby on our hands—Chelsea vs. Arsenal, live from Stamford Bridge.”
Alan Smith chimed in, “It’s got all the ingredients, Ian—some fireworks in the press, a bit of needle, and plenty of young talent on the pitch. Should be a good one!”
Martin Taylor turned to his co-commentator with a grin.
“Alan, if you were Benitez today, how would you approach this one?”
Alan Smith chuckled. “Well, Ian, I’d probably just let them play like we did at Liverpool—and hope for the best!”
The two burst into laughter, that familiar, cheeky banter adding just the right spice.
Their commentary often carried a touch of sarcasm—nothing malicious, just enough to keep things lively.
Parry then turned to their fellow analyst.
“Baton! You’re up—this one’s your beat.”
Adam Baton flipped open his trademark notebook and smiled.
“Benitez is seriously underestimating Kai. If that’s his mindset, Chelsea could be staring at another home defeat.”
He tapped the page with his pen.
“In recent matches, Kai’s shown exactly why he’s in the starting XI. Sure, he’s 18, but his impact on the pitch isn’t something you can just chalk up to youth.”
Baton went on, a touch of pride in his tone.
“With Wenger’s backing, he’s evolved massively—averaging seven tackles, six interceptions, an assist, and several key passes in just the last three games.”
He looked up, eyes sharp.
“And the numbers don’t lie. His growth’s been obvious for all to see.”
Snap!
Dixon shut the notebook with a confident thud.
“The Gunners aren’t firing empty cannons anymore—they’re loading ammunition and aiming with intent.”
...
Down on the pitch, Kai was locked in a familiar duel—eyes fixed on Oscar, and Oscar glaring right back.
They’d faced off three times already, and Oscar had yet to get past him.
The pressure Kai exerted was maddening.
Kai smirked and pointed at himself in challenge. “Come on, then.”
Oscar’s face tensed in frustration, but he had no reply. Once again, he’d been baited, and he knew it.
Kai turned and jogged off.
Now, in 2013, Oscar was still brimming with potential. He had just bagged two screamers in the Champions League and was being touted as Lampard’s heir apparent.
At 20, he was on the verge of a major breakthrough.
Benitez’s system suited him too, giving him room to shine.
But unfortunately for him, he kept running into Kai.
And Kai had no fear of players like Oscar. Unless you were pulling off Messi-level brilliance, Kai had the composure and grit to nullify all the fancy footwork.
He’d been breaking up Oscar’s plays like clockwork.
“Oscar! Oscaa- Ahhh—he’s lost it again!”
Martin’s voice rang out.
“That’s four times now! The Brazilian wonder who dazzled us in Europe is completely locked down here, and the one shutting him down? A kid two years younger!”
Alan shook his head. “He’s trying too hard. He needs to move the ball, not challenge Kai head-on. There’s nothing for him there.”
Arsenal’s midfield was acting like a barrier, cutting out Chelsea’s rhythm at every turn.
Kai, in particular, was everywhere. His aggressive tackling and well-timed interceptions anchored the Gunners’ defense.
But today, there was more to his game.
Unlike earlier in the season, where he'd often dump the ball off after a tackle, now he was staying composed, looking to build from the back.
On this occasion, a long diagonal pass came in. Kai moved across the right central channel to meet it.
Hazard closed in fast, pressing him hard.
Kai took the ball down with a soft chest trap, cushioning it effortlessly.
All those extra reps in training were paying off—his first touch was crisp, confident.
As Hazard pressured him, Kai braced, lowered his center of gravity, and used his hips and back to shield the ball. Then, with a quick flick of his right foot around his standing leg, he spun away from the Belgian.
No flair, no frills—but highly effective.
Kai glanced up to scan the field.
His head moved like a radar.
There!
A sharp pass found Chamberlain’s feet.
Kai paused, not following forward—he had done his job. Now it was up to Chamberlain.
But the move broke down.
Ramíres. The other wall.
Chamberlain lost possession almost immediately.
Kai clenched his jaw.
“Should’ve been Cazorla…” he muttered under his breath. “He would’ve buried that.”
But that was Arsenal’s reality. Injuries had left them shorthanded.
“Fall back! Reset!” Kai shouted, waving his arms.
The entire team responded, retreating quickly into shape.
This had become a familiar sight since the 20th round—Arsenal’s defensive discipline, once shaky, now held firm.
Everyone knew their role. And with Kai barking orders in the middle, they followed.
The transformation was real.
