With 79 minutes gone and Arsenal trailing, things weren't looking good.
The aggregate stood at 3–3. Both sides had scored the same number of away goals, which meant that unless something changed, this was heading into extra time.
Real Madrid had already made their moves — two substitutions, one attacking, one defensive.
Coentrão made way for Marcelo.
Isco replaced Khedira.
With those fresh legs, Real would ease some of their fatigue and sharpen up for the final stretch.
Wenger reshuffled what he could.
Ramsey came off for Flamini.
Rosický for Wilshere.
It was a signal — Arsenal weren't sitting back. They were going for it.
They'd come this far; there was no point holding back now.
Kai caught sight of Wenger on the touchline — the manager nodded and gave a faint, knowing smile.
Kai exhaled slowly, shaking his head with a grin.
"Alright! Take a breather. Don't overthink the result — just like the Professor said, enjoy the game!"
He clenched his fists.
"Real Madrid are strong, sure. But if they want to beat us, they'll have to go over our corpses first! Let's go!"
His words sparked something in the team — a flicker of energy, defiance.
They could feel the rhythm of the match shifting again.
Even if Real wanted to win, they'd have to pay for it.
Arsenal restarted play.
The ball was worked back to Kai, and Bale came charging in.
This time, Kai didn't shy away from the collision. He pulled the ball, shifted his body, and pushed it left — balancing his center of gravity.
As Bale closed in, Kai tapped the ball back with his left foot, then cut with his right — gliding past Bale with a smooth pivot.
He didn't release the pass immediately. Instead, he drove diagonally toward the left, dragging defenders with him.
Isco came pressing, but Kai stopped, feinted, then burst forward again — a sharp acceleration that left the Spaniard off balance before Kai finally released the ball.
Two clean dribbles in quick succession.
Something Arsenal fans hadn't seen from him before.
"Ohhh, look at that! Kai's starting to show some flair!" Martin Taylor exclaimed.
Alan Smith laughed. "We've not seen that from him in midfield — he's usually all strength and structure. That's brilliant confidence!"
For Wenger, this game had become more of an experiment. With the pressure off, he wanted to see how his players had grown.
He didn't want the fear of losing to hold them back.
Kai's performances had always impressed him — but there was more to unlock. Wenger wanted him to evolve beyond being just a defensive shield with offensive contributions — into a complete, all-round midfielder.
So when Kai began taking on players and showing real technical control, Wenger's smile grew.
Wilshere picked up next — one of the few English players comfortable with close control.
But Carvajal, Madrid's full-back, was no easy opponent.
Still, Jack wasn't one to back down. He never cared who stood in front of him — Gattuso, Keane, or anyone else. He'd still take you on.
After testing Carvajal a few times, Wilshere looked like he was running out of options — then, just as the full-back lunged in, Jack rolled the ball with his left, poked it through the defender's legs, and leaped over the sliding challenge.
Nutmeg. Clean as you like.
Wilshere was into the box in a flash, with Podolski, Cazorla, and Kai all surging forward. Real Madrid's defense suddenly looked shaky.
A few sharp passes later, Podolski found space and let fly — the ball kissed the outside of the post and spun wide.
" Wilshere with the nutmeg — Arsenal playing with real freedom now! Podolski… ohhh just wide!" Martin Taylor called out.
Alan Smith groaned. "That was inches away! Great build-up, though — they're enjoying themselves now."
Podolski clutched his head in disbelief, but Kai's voice rang out above the noise.
"Forget it! Back to shape! Everyone run! You're doing great!"
And with Kai and Wilshere showing off their dribbling, it wasn't long before another Arsenal technician joined the fun.
"Here's Cazorla… cheeky nutmeg past Di María… Marcelo steps up—ohhh, rainbow flick! What a touch!"
Marcelo, ever alert, quickly spun and cleared the ball before it could drop — earning a round of applause even from Arsenal fans.
Three minutes later:
"Cazorla again," Martin Taylor said, chuckling.
Another three minutes:
"Now it's Wilshere — he's having a go!"
Another three:
"This time it's Kai! He's dribbling again — ohhh, that's… that's some heavyweight dribbling!" Alan Smith burst out laughing.
Kai bulldozed through two, three Real Madrid players — lower body rock-solid, somehow mixing brute strength with surprising footwork.
By the time he reached the edge of the box, only Ramos and Casillas stopped him from pulling the trigger.
Kai went down, but a grin stayed on his face.
That was football. That was joy.
For once, he wasn't the one taking the hits — he was the one making defenders scramble.
He had never imagined he'd get a chance to play like this in his life — but tonight, this match was fulfilling all of Kai's secret dreams.
He wasn't a pure technician by any stretch — a lot of his dribbles relied more on raw power than finesse — but that didn't matter. The thrill of weaving past defenders, feeling the ball at his feet, the crowd gasping — it was intoxicating.
For the first time, Kai understood what Sterling must feel every week.
From that moment on, it was as if the whole Arsenal team had decided to let loose.
And strangely, their chaos began to unsettle Real Madrid.
The Gunners weren't just charging forward blindly — their dribbles were linked with crisp passes and clever movement.
Real Madrid didn't fear the dribble alone. They didn't fear the passing either.
What terrified them was Arsenal doing both at once.
Podolski, Wilshere, Kai, Cazorla — even Flamini started joining the fun.
Suddenly, Real Madrid's backline looked confused. This wasn't in the game plan. This wasn't the Arsenal they had studied.
And the funny thing was — Arsenal themselves didn't seem to know what they were doing tactically.
However, their approach soon became clear.
Dribble if you can, pass if you can't — and if neither works, try again anyway.
Total chaos. Total fun.
Martin Taylor chuckled. "Well, Arsenal are putting on quite a show here — but is any of this actually effective? There are only a few minutes left. What are they trying to do?"
Alan Smith laughed. "At this point, Martin, I think they're just playing for the love of it. You can't even be mad — it's entertaining!"
The Arsenal fans certainly thought so.
For them, this performance was already more than they'd dared to hope for.
The Champions League semi-final was already a dream.
So, in these final minutes, as Arsenal threw tactics out the window and played with pure joy, the away supporters were completely on board.
They cheered every dribble, every feint, every bit of flair.
"Go on, Gunners! Get past him!"
"Take him on, Jack!"
"That's it, Kai! Do it again!"
"Haha! Walcott's having a go now — look at those step-overs! Not great, but we love the effort!"
"Doesn't matter if you win or lose — you've done us proud!"
"Come on, lads!"
At the Bernabéu, the traveling Arsenal fans — vastly outnumbered — were the loudest voices in the stadium.
Even as their team trailed, they sang, laughed, and shouted encouragement.
Their energy infected the pitch.
The game's atmosphere turned electric — a mix of tension, excitement, and admiration for Arsenal's defiance.
Real Madrid, meanwhile, were under real pressure. Arsenal's fearless dribbles were forcing them deeper and deeper.
But Madrid still had their eyes on the prize — one goal, one chance to end it before extra time.
And both sides, for completely different reasons, refused to back down.
...
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