August 17th, 2013 — the Premier League was back.
A new season. A new beginning.
With fresh transfers completed and squads reinforced, the top-flight clubs of English football were once again ready to battle for glory.
Manchester United, still basking in last season's title triumph, now faced the dawn of a post-Ferguson era. David Moyes had taken the reins, tasked with leading the Red Devils through uncertain waters.
José Mourinho, The Special One, had returned to Chelsea, instantly shifting the spotlight to Stamford Bridge. Expectations soared.
Liverpool had added depth to their ranks and looked set to be a serious contender this time around.
Tottenham, having parted ways with Gareth Bale, was reeling from the loss of its talisman. The question loomed: could they still compete at the highest level?
Manchester City, as ever, flexed its financial muscle, bringing in more firepower in pursuit of another title.
And Arsenal?
With their injury woes finally behind them and a talented core intact, the Gunners approached the season with renewed hunger after narrowly missing out on silverware last time around. This year, they were back—with something to prove.
Kai, Suarez, Cazorla, Walcott, Arteta, and others were all ready and waiting in the wings.
Even teams like Everton, dubbed civilian in comparison to the giants, had geared up for a fierce campaign.
Because in the Premier League, the competition was fierce.
...
Emirates Stadium, North London
A furnace of noise and colour.
The sun blazed over North London, and the Emirates was already buzzing. Fans packed the stands, expectant and energetic.
Despite the ongoing high ticket prices—still needed to offset the cost of the stadium's construction—supporters filled every seat. The passion hadn't wavered. Not one bit.
If anything, the optimism had returned in full force.
From the flags waving in the breeze to the chants echoing through the steel rafters, it was clear: the new season had arrived.
...
In the Arsenal dressing room, Arsène Wenger gathered his squad for one last word.
"Alright, gentlemen. First game of the season—let's start strong."
As the team began to file out, Wenger gently caught Kai by the arm.
"Something wrong, Professor?" Kai asked, raising a brow.
Wenger smiled, pulling something from his coat pocket.
With a practiced motion, he fastened the captain's armband around Kai's left arm.
"You almost walked out without this."
Kai glanced down, the red and white band tight around his bicep. He inhaled slowly and nodded.
"We're winning this."
Wenger patted him on the shoulder, a quiet pride in his eyes. "Then go lead them."
Kai turned and headed for the tunnel, the last one out.
...
In the tunnel...
Players lined up on either side. Arsenal to the right. Aston Villa to the left.
As Kai emerged, his teammates noticed the armband and gave him a respectful nod.
With Vermaelen still out injured, the responsibility fell to Kai, Arsenal's vice-captain—and unofficial heartbeat of the team.
He made his way down the line, offering a firm high-five or a nod to each teammate.
"This is it, guys. You can feel the fans, yeah? They've been waiting."
Age didn't matter. His leadership had long surpassed the number on his birth certificate.
They remembered his bloodied jersey against United. The way he carried the midfield when it all fell apart. The times he stood tall, when no one else did.
That's a captain.
Even Wilshere, standing nearby, watched him with a complicated look. In two seasons, everything had changed. Wilshere still wore the number 10, but it was Kai's number 4 that echoed louder now.
Wilshere had always dreamed of being the future of Arsenal. But the future had arrived—and it wasn't him.
Kai took his place in front of Szczęsny, the team poised and ready.
Referee Anthony Taylor gave a glance at the time, then a nod.
He then gave a nod to both captains and ushered the teams out of the tunnel.
...
First half: Emirates Stadium. Sky Sports commentary box.
Martin Taylor: "We're approaching the end of the first 45 minutes, and still no goals. Aston Villa holding firm at the back—Arsenal struggling to carve open clear chances."
Alan Smith: "You know, Martin, I wouldn't say Villa's defence has been extraordinary. It's more that Arsenal haven't clicked into that attacking rhythm we saw last season. They're a little... off-tempo."
Martin: "It's a good point. The sharpness just isn't there yet. Some promising movement, but the edge—the urgency—it's missing."
Alan: "Yeah, they've had too long of a break. Mentally, they're not fully back in the trenches of the EPL yet."
...
Back on the pitch, Kai shifted near the halfway line, eyes narrowed.
His gaze locked onto Christian Benteke.
Strong. Decent footwork.
Kai clocked his pattern—receive, lay it off, wait for support.
Benteke raised his hand for the ball, unaware he was being watched.
Westwood spotted him and sent it in.
But just as the ball approached, Wilshere surged in, bodying up against Benteke.
Benteke tried to shield it, but Wilshere stuck tight.
And then—tap.
Out of nowhere, a foot poked the ball through Benteke's legs. Kai swept it up and didn't miss a beat.
"Brilliant defensive reading! Kai and Wilshere combine to dispossess Benteke—Arsenal break!" Martin Taylor called.
Kai looked up. Villa were caught in transition, their midfield exposed.
He clipped a sharp pass to Walcott on the wing.
Walcott didn't hesitate—one touch, and a slick layoff to Cazorla.
Back it went—one-two.
Walcott broke into the box, sold the defender a dummy, and squared it to Suarez.
Suarez drifted wide, shifted right, and let fly.
The shot came like thunder—clean, powerful, and without hesitation.
Suarez's strike rocketed past the outstretched hand of Guzan, brushing the underside of the crossbar before nestling into the top of the net.
Boom.
Just like that, the Emirates erupted.
It was the breakthrough Arsenal had been pushing for all half.
1–0 to the Gunners.
And with that, the referee brought the first half to a close.
...
Second Half.
The teams returned to the pitch with fresh legs and sharpened focus.
Only six minutes in, Arsenal earned a corner.
Santi Cazorla jogged over to the corner flag, gently placing the ball down. He took a glance up, scanning the penalty box.
Movement. Arms raised. Jostling for space.
Then he saw it—a red jersey charging toward the near post.
It was Kai.
Cazorla's eyes lit up. Without hesitation, he struck the ball—a low, driven delivery, whipping with pace toward the near side.
Kai was already in motion, sprinting at full tilt. As he reached the edge of the six-yard box, he launched himself into the air.
His body stretched out horizontally, fully airborne—shoulders squared, eyes never leaving the flight of the ball.
With pinpoint control, he met it cleanly with his forehead—just a gentle touch, almost like a brushstroke.
But it was enough.
The ball glanced off his head and curved sharply, nestling into the inside of the near post.
Brad Guzan didn't stand a chance.
Goal. Arsenal 2, Aston Villa 0.
...
Martin Taylor:
"That's absolutely stunning! Kai with a diving header—textbook movement, deadly finish! Arsenal double their lead, and it's their captain leading the charge!"
Alan Smith:
"The way he attacked that corner... the timing, the positioning—it was perfect. You wouldn't believe he had any injury worries in pre-season. That's a leader's goal if I've ever seen one."
Martin:
"He's set the tone not just in midfield today, but now he's added a goal to his name in the opener. You couldn't ask for more from your captain."
The Emirates Stadium exploded again.
Waves of red and white surged through the stands. The noise was deafening.
Fans jumped to their feet, arms raised in unison, scarves swinging through the air.
In the East Stand, for a brief moment, a hush fell after the eruption. Dozens of regulars stood frozen—not in silence, but in awe.
Every eye locked on Kai, who had already turned and was sprinting straight toward them.
As he reached the touchline, he raised his arm like a spinning rotor and threw three sharp punches into the air.
The entire East Stand echoed his celebration in perfect rhythm:
"ARSENAL!! — ARSENAL!! — ARSENAL!!"
The concrete beneath them trembled as the crowd stomped and screamed.
Flags waved like wildfire in the wind. Faces flushed red with emotion.
It wasn't just a goal—it was a message.
Kai was here, and this was his team.
...
Back in the commentary box—
Martin Taylor:
"Well, if there were still any doubters left... Kai has silenced them all. That's his signature celebratory move—and it's lit up the Emirates once again!"
Alan Smith:
"They used to call this place the library, Martin—but those days are long gone. Since Kai broke into this team, the noise levels have gone through the roof."
Martin:
"That's the kind of connection you dream of—young, fearless, leading from the front. He's not just wearing the armband; he's carrying the club crest with pride."
Alan:
"And the fans? They know it. Arsenal are lucky. They've found a proper Gunner in Kai."
Martin:
"You look around and see what he's done to this team... and this stadium. There's something special about watching a lad rise like this."
The scoreboard read 2–0, but the emotional score was much higher.
Kai jogged back to the center circle, still catching his breath, eyes calm and laser-focused.
He didn't need to say anything.
The fans had already said it for him:
"OhhhhhhKai, Kai, he's our pride!
Born to fight in red and white!
Pass or strike, he makes 'em cry,
Arsenal's star—our boy Kai!"
(clap-clap, clap-clap-clap)
"Our boy Kai!"
(clap-clap, clap-clap-clap)
"Our boy Kai!
The chant echoed louder than ever.