Down on the pitch, Chamberlain was still receiving treatment, the medics surrounding him while the referee kept an eye on the situation. The Arsenal faithful, scattered among the travelling support, rose to their feet in applause, their voices carrying through the stadium. They knew what that moment meant.
The goal Chamberlain forced came at a cost, but it was precisely the danger involved that gave it so much weight.
"This," one fan in the stands, Meadows, shouted hoarsely, "this is Arsenal! This is what it means to wear the cannon!"
The raw courage wasn't about fights, arguments, or harassing the referee. No—it was about moments like these, when risk and opportunity collide. It's about the decision to put your body on the line for the team. Chamberlain's choice showed Arsenal's intent clearly: they would gamble everything to score, no matter the price.
The first half wound down with the score locked at 1-1. Both teams, recognising the stakes, eased off direct clashes in the closing minutes, saving their energy and ideas for the second half.
Half-time arrived. The players trudged into their dressing rooms, sweat-soaked and gasping for breath, each manager ready with instructions.
Inside the Arsenal camp, Wenger stood before his squad, his voice calm but commanding.
"Kai, in the second half, I want you to keep your deep position. Bayern's wingers have been trying to isolate our backline. You will protect the gaps. The midfield space you vacate will need covering. Cazorla, Rosický, Walcott, Chamberlain—your running will be relentless. You'll have to work box to box, keep the shape alive, and press whenever needed."
He then fixed his gaze on Chamberlain. "Can you continue?"
Chamberlain, still clutching a pack of tissues against his nose, snapped upright. "Yes, coach! I can keep going!"
This was the Champions League—his chance to prove himself. There was no way he was admitting weakness.
Wenger nodded with a trace of approval before turning to Kai. "And you—your role doesn't change. You'll still be the shield against their wide players. Hold your ground."
Kai gave a simple nod. He had already adjusted after the early struggles. The first half had exposed his lack of raw pace, and Guardiola had tried to exploit it. But dropping deeper gave him more room to anticipate, to cut passing lanes, and to physically contest Bayern's wingers before they could build momentum.
The sense of order in Arsenal's back line had begun to return.
"Good. Catch your breath. We go again."
.
Meanwhile, in the Bayern dressing room, Guardiola stood by the tactics board, marker in hand. His intensity filled the room.
"When you face Kai, you cannot hesitate. He thrives on hesitation. You must use speed, be decisive. Don't get dragged into wrestling with him. Once he's got hold of you, it's impossible to shake free."
He turned to Götze directly. "Mario, don't get drawn into tricks or fancy moves. They won't work against him. Either release the ball quickly or use your acceleration to get past. That's how we break them down."
The Spaniard looked across his players, eyes sharp. "Gentlemen, remember—this is our ground, our supporters. Play with freedom, play with confidence. Trust yourselves."
.
I the commentary booth, the pundits looked ahead to the second half.
Martin Taylor was the first to weigh in. "The battle down the flanks remains absolutely crucial. Arsenal have shored things up by asking Kai to sit deeper, but Bayern know they've got to find a way through. The home side can't settle for a draw here—it's not in their DNA, and it won't satisfy the Allianz crowd."
Alan Smith added thoughtfully, "That's right. Arsenal will take a draw if it comes to it, but you sense Wenger also smells an opportunity. Bayern are pressing hard, but Arsenal's counter has shown it can be dangerous. The key is whether Arsenal's back line can hold out. And let's be honest, so much of that comes down to Kai's ability to keep Bayern's wide men quiet."
Taylor nodded. "You could see in the first half, once Kai was bypassed, the defense looked exposed, and that's a dangerous game to play against wingers of this calibre. Arsenal needs him fit, focused, and alert for the full ninety."
Smith leaned forward, voice tightening with anticipation. "The second half isn't just about tactics—it's about endurance and mentality. Which side keeps its structure? Which side breaks first? That could well decide the tie."
Taylor smiled slightly. "Exactly. We're in for a fascinating forty-five minutes. It's a battle of willpower as much as skill, and the margins are razor thin."
Their words were prophetic. Everything they outlined began to play out once the whistle went.
The second half exploded into life. Where the first half had been a game of chess, probing and patient with just seven shots between them across 45 minutes, the second half quickly descended into a slugfest. Within the opening ten minutes, both sides had already fired three shots apiece—six efforts in total—and the pace of the game was suddenly unrecognisable.
"Kai! Get set!" Mertesacker shouted, panic rising in his tone.
Before he could say more, Kai was already sprinting across, planting himself directly in Robben's path.
Robben, ever the tormentor, twisted his body left, then right, feinting to cut inside as he had done a thousand times before. But Kai matched him stride for stride, step for step, like a shadow refusing to disappear.
Frustrated, Robben tried again, but this time Arsenal's left-back Monreal had also recovered to double up. Cornered and out of options, Robben was forced into retreat, dragging the ball back and sending a simple pass to the midfield.
Only then did Kai allow himself a controlled jog back towards the centre circle, breathing steady, body upright. Robben turned back to glare at him, his face a mixture of annoyance and disbelief.
It was the same old problem. Whenever he came up against Kai, his favourite move—cutting inside onto his left foot—was suffocated. Every time he tried, Kai stepped in, shoulder to shoulder, blocking the away the shot.
Robben was furious. He hated this. He hated him.
And it wasn't just Robben who felt the pressure. On the opposite flank, Götze was learning the same harsh lesson. Arsenal's collective retreat meant Kai could shuffle side to side, always lurking, always intercepting, never giving either winger the time or space to breathe.
The German prodigy could now understand why his teammate loathed facing Kai. Being shadowed this relentlessly, this physically, was suffocating. It was like running into a brick wall that never tired.
But Bayern had no choice. They had to keep attacking.
Kai was managing his energy with remarkable composure. His lungs weren't burning, his chest wasn't tightening, and his legs still felt strong. The work rate was immense, but he had learned how to pace himself, how to distribute his energy throughout the ninety minutes.
That didn't mean he was alone, though. Arsenal's forwards were also sacrificing themselves in the press. Suarez, his shirt drenched, legs heavy, was still chasing every lost ball, still dropping deep to harry Bayern's build-up. His calves were cramping, his body screaming, but he refused to stop.
This wasn't just a match anymore—it was a contest of willpower. Arsenal and Bayern were locked in a running war, trading blows at breakneck speed.
The statistics told their own story. In just fifteen minutes of the second half, the pace of the game had doubled. Every player on the pitch was sprinting, pressing, retreating, and attacking. Even the goalkeepers were being dragged into the chaos—Szczesny diving full stretch to deny Müller, Neuer flying off his line to smother Walcott.
Bayern threw everything at Arsenal: slick passing triangles, balls whipped in from the flanks, sudden long-range efforts. Arsenal answered in kind with lightning counters, intricate one-touch moves, and sharp attempts inside the penalty area.
The Allianz Arena had turned into a furnace. Every tackle, every shot, every clearance was met with roars from the stands. And still, nobody relented.
...
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