Arsenal's front line was relentless. The Gunners' forwards were playing with fire in their veins, and it was starting to show.
Cazorla and Suarez were in sublime form—constantly moving, dragging Bayern's backline into uncomfortable positions. Every time they combined, Bayern's defenders looked a little more disoriented.
On the flanks, Chamberlain and Walcott were like twin arrows, bursting forward at every opportunity. The pace and directness from both wings forced Lahm and Alaba into a dilemma—they barely dared to cross the halfway line. One misplaced step, and Arsenal were in behind.
And in midfield, Kai was everywhere—sliding, intercepting, pressing like a man possessed. His defensive awareness was nothing short of commanding. Every time Bayern tried to build from the back, his presence loomed over them.
Long balls? Intercepted.
Short passes through the middle? Broken up.
Any moment of hesitation? Kai was there, eating up the space.
Under Arsenal's suffocating press, Bayern's players looked uneasy. Their rhythm faltered. More often than not, they were forced to launch desperate clearances toward the front line, only for Kai or Mertesacker to win it back and restart the assault.
"Arsenal are absolutely swarming them right now," said Martin Taylor on Sky Sports, his tone half in disbelief. "Every player in red is working like a machine. Bayern can't find an inch of breathing room!"
Alan Smith chuckled beside him. "And that's what Wenger's been working on, Martin—this level of intensity. You can see the conditioning work paying off. Arsenal are running them into the ground."
Down on the pitch, Bayern tried to calm things. Dante played it short to Lahm, who barely had time to look up before Walcott came charging at him like a predator sensing weakness.
"Pass it! Pass it!" Dante barked as Walcott closed the gap.
Lahm immediately shifted the ball forward toward Kroos.
But before Kroos could even settle, he saw Kai thundering toward him—head down, eyes fixed, timing perfect.
Kroos stumbled back, nearly losing his balance. He'd completely underestimated how strong Kai was in a challenge.
The ball popped loose. Kai didn't hesitate—he cushioned it on his foot, pivoted, and began to move. Ribery came charging in from behind, hoping to steal it back.
But Kai lowered his center of gravity, using his frame like a shield. Ribery bounced off him once, then again. It was like running into a wall. The crowd roared with every thud.
The Emirates was electric now. Arsenal fans, swept up by the rhythm of the game, began to sing.
"Overthrow the old order, hope is near!
When the Gunners rise, we'll drink and cheer!"
The chant, adapted from The Age of Aggression, echoed around the stands—loud, proud, and defiant.
Wave after wave, Arsenal pressed forward. Every attack felt like it might be the one to break the dam.
Suarez shrugged off Dante, turned, and shot from a tight angle. The ball flew toward the bottom corner—
Neuer flung himself across the goal, fingertips brushing it wide.
The crowd gasped.
Then a thud. Neuer crashed shoulder-first into the post.
"Ah, that's nasty!" Alan exclaimed. "He's absolutely smashed into the woodwork there."
Neuer grimaced, rolled his shoulder, then pushed himself up before denying medical help. There was pain on his face, but also fury.
"Wake up!" he shouted at his defenders. "Do you want me to do everything myself?!"
Dante and Boateng exchanged glances, looking frustrated. The pressure was unrelenting, and even Bayern's usually composed backline was beginning to crack.
Corner to Arsenal.
Cazorla raised his arm, scanning the box. Most of the Gunners had surged forward—Mertesacker, Koscielny, Sagna, Monreal—all ready to attack the cross. Only Kai stayed back near the center circle, guarding against the counter.
The ball curled in beautifully toward the near post. Mertesacker rose high, but Neuer came out bravely, plucking it from the air before launching a counterattack with a lightning throw.
It sailed straight toward Robben.
The Dutchman was already shifting gears when—
"Be careful!" Schweinsteiger's warning came too late.
Robben instinctively glanced over his shoulder—and his heart skipped a beat.
Kai was charging straight at him, full throttle, a blur of red and determination cutting across the pitch.
Robben tried to push forward to meet the ball, but it was already too late. Kai was accelerating faster, closing the distance like a train bearing down on the tracks.
With a swing of his leg, Kai connected with the ball first. It rocketed off his boot and soared high—an absolute clearance that flew beyond everyone and into the stands behind Bayern's goal.
It wasn't elegant, but it was effective. The danger was gone.
Arsenal's backline took the opportunity to reorganize, sprinting back into shape as Kai slowed his run and headed toward Cazorla.
"That ball was too risky, Santi," Kai said, slightly breathless but firm. "You played it too close to the line."
Cazorla exhaled and nodded. "Yeah, that one's on me. I was trying to draw Neuer out—make him hesitate. But I didn't expect him to commit that fast."
"That's Neuer for you. When he decides, he commits. You can't bait him easily."
Cazorla chuckled, brushing his forehead with his wristband. "Well, luckily, we've got our own sweeper behind. That's my safety net right there."
Kai rolled his eyes.
"Don't count on it too much," he said, though there was a trace of amusement in his voice.
Martin Taylor's tone was lively, his voice rising over the Emirates crowd. "That's a brilliant reading of the game from Kai once again! He spotted Neuer's throw almost instantly, anticipated where Robben would be, and went full tilt to shut it down. That kind of awareness is priceless for Arsenal."
Alan Smith nodded in agreement. "Spot on, Martin. The timing, the aggression—he didn't just block the counter, he completely neutralized Bayern's shape. Robben didn't even have a second to think. That's what separates a good holding midfielder from a great one."
The Emirates was buzzing again.
...
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