"My goal was the best one. If I don't come off, I score another."
The strong performance lifted the mood across the squad.
Even Di María was wearing a relaxed, genuine smile.
He was extremely satisfied with his move to Arsenal. On one hand, the environment at the club gave him a constant sense of positivity. On the other—perhaps more importantly—there was no pressure.
None at all.
Di María had never enjoyed pressure.
He preferred freedom—playing instinctively rather than being constantly reminded that the team depended on him.
That was also the root of his inconsistency.
At his best, Di María was unquestionably world-class. He could always reach that level—but usually in environments where the pressure was light, where the true core of the team was stable and dominant, and where he was supported rather than relied upon.
At Arsenal, he had exactly that.
No one forced him to carry the team.
His role was clear: be dangerous on the wing.
If he felt good, he drifted inside and created chances.
If he didn't, he stayed wide, took on defenders, and played his natural game.
And most importantly, Arsenal had a stable core.
Kai was young, but everything about him felt steady.
Whether defending, organizing, or attacking, Kai was Arsenal's anchor.
When Kai pushed forward, Di María followed instinctively. When Kai accelerated the tempo, the entire team moved with him.
That rhythm spread quickly.
Once it did, Arsenal became aggressive, fast, and relentless.
At times, Di María couldn't help but wonder—what if Kai were Argentine?
In the recent World Cup final, Argentina faced Germany. Götze's late goal had decided everything.
But throughout that tournament, Argentina's midfield had always felt… fragile.
Messi had been magnificent. Untouchable.
But there had been no true stabilizer behind him.
If someone like Kai had been there, Di María was certain—the final would not have ended the same way.
Of course, it was just his own thought.
After the break, the second half began.
Arsène Wenger immediately made sweeping substitutions.
Almost the entire lineup was rotated.
Only Kai and N'Golo Kanté remained in midfield.
Even Walcott, who had only recently come on, was substituted again.
This was the nature of pre-season—testing combinations, evaluating roles, gathering data.
Wenger felt the first setup had been examined thoroughly. Now it was time to look at alternatives.
Yet one detail stood out.
Kai stayed on.
That was expected.
He was the core. In any system, in any lineup, Kai remained indispensable.
But Kanté staying on raised eyebrows.
Slowly, the message became clear.
Wenger was growing increasingly fond of the quiet French midfielder.
He had given Kanté extended minutes not because he doubted him, but because he wanted to see how far he could go.
Wenger was already satisfied.
But what if there was more?
Nuremberg also made multiple substitutions at halftime and came out aggressively, pressing high and trying to regain some dignity.
It didn't work.
Kai and Kanté blocked everything.
They disrupted passing lanes, broke up advances, and recovered possession repeatedly. Even when Nuremberg forced their way toward the penalty area, they were quickly surrounded and dispossessed.
Shots were rare.
Clean entries into the box were almost nonexistent.
As Nuremberg struggled, Arsenal grew more comfortable.
Kai was content to play the facilitator, delivering passes that perfectly suited his teammates' strengths. With each successful move, confidence spread further through the side.
Kanté, meanwhile, kept it simple.
He ran. He tackled. He covered space.
That was exactly what Wenger wanted to see.
After ninety minutes, the final score read:
Arsenal 5–1 Nuremberg
Arsenal had enjoyed themselves.
Nuremberg, less so.
They could clearly feel it—Arsenal hadn't even gone all out. There was still something being held back.
And yet, five goals had still gone past them.
The gap was sobering.
Still, there was a silver lining.
The match exposed numerous problems, and these problems could be solved.
If they addressed them one by one, Nuremberg believed they could fight their way back to the Bundesliga.
After the second friendly, Arsenal returned to London to prepare for their final warm-up match against Sevilla.
Meanwhile, British media coverage intensified.
"Arsenal 5–1 Nuremberg: Gunners display commanding dominance in pre-season clash."
"The smoke hasn't even cleared, and Arsenal already look like they're hunting again."
"A new season. A sharper Arsenal."
The headlines kept coming.
Most evaluations of the new signings—and Kai in particular—were overwhelmingly positive.
"Kai remains outstanding. Arsenal's engine is already running."
"Di María arrives, and the Angel delivers—his first goal in Arsenal colors."
"Sánchez looks sharp."
Report after report flooded the media, as if the entire British press had turned its attention back to Arsenal.
After last season, many believed the club had finally hit bottom—and rebounded.
This generation of Gunners, led by Kai, was being tipped to restore the pride of the red and white.
...
On August 5th, Arsenal's final preseason warm-up would take place at the Emirates Stadium.
Their opponent: Sevilla, the undisputed kings of the Europa League.
This match, however, would remain completely closed. No fans. No media.
Warm-up matches fell into two categories. One was commercial—played for revenue and exposure, closer to exhibitions than competition. The other was a true preparation match, focused on evaluating fitness, tactics, chemistry, and match readiness.
The games against Nürnberg and Sevilla belonged firmly to the latter.
But unlike the Nürnberg match, the public would only see the scoreline and goal scorers. The details would stay behind closed doors.
Arsenal had scheduled just three warm-up matches this preseason, fewer than many clubs that played six or more.
The first was commercial.
The second, against Nürnberg, was mainly for rhythm and confidence—the gap in quality was obvious.
The third, against Sevilla, was the real test.
The intensity would mirror a competitive match in every detail.
And Arsenal treated it as such.
Sevilla had finished fifth in La Liga the previous season—a genuine European-level side and a serious opponent.
Arsenal named almost their full starting lineup, with one notable addition.
Goalkeeper: Navas.
Defenders: Sagna, Mustafi, Koscielny, Gibbs.
Midfield: Kanté, Cazorla, Kai.
Forwards: Di María, Suárez, Sánchez.
Di María and Kai were positioned diagonally—an adjustment finalized after the previous warm-up. Di María wasn't a midfielder who absorbed possession, so keeping Kai and Cazorla deeper would have wasted their strengths. Instead, the setup was designed to support Sánchez while giving Di María freedom.
Kanté would cover behind them.
Kanté's inclusion in the starting eleven raised eyebrows.
It was a clear sign that his previous performance had impressed the coaching staff.
When he heard the news, Kanté was happy—but the pressure followed immediately.
Once he stepped onto the pitch and glanced at the bench, packed with established names, his heart beat faster.
"If I play bad," he muttered quietly, "coach change me fast."
Kai didn't try to shield him from that reality. Some things had to be earned.
He adjusted the captain's armband on his arm. The standard Premier League design wasn't present; the club's cannon symbol was. The responsibility behind it weighed heavily.
Across from them stood Sevilla's players.
Kai took a deep breath and raised his voice.
"Alright! Last warm-up. Let's play our football—and play it properly."
The response came immediately, sharp and unified.
Kai clenched his fist and roared, "Gunners—!"
"Forward!" the team thundered back in unison.
The match was ready to begin.
. . .
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