"You want me to be the main orchestrator?"
Kai looked at Wenger, clearly taken aback.
He had thought about this possibility before, but he never expected Wenger to actually try it now — in the second leg of the Champions League semi-final, of all times.
Making such a bold tactical change at this stage was enough to unsettle anyone.
But Wenger, as always, was calm.
"The reason we're trying this now, in the semi-final, is because we've already made a decision. And I think you know what that means."
Kai stayed silent for a moment.
Treating a Champions League semi-final as a test match could only mean one thing — the club had already accepted that advancing might be out of reach.
Given Arsenal's current situation, without Suarez as their primary attacking threat, their chances against Real Madrid were slim.
Their victory in the first leg had been largely down to Pepe's mistakes.
Kai knew that kind of luck wouldn't last. Real Madrid's consistency was far higher than Arsenal's flashes of brilliance.
Still, now that Wenger had made up his mind, there was no point in hesitating.
"I can try," Kai finally said, "but I'll need full authority. Everyone plays at my tempo."
Wenger gave a small nod. "That's for you to sort out. I trust you can make them follow your rhythm."
Kai nodded. The coaching staff's approval was enough — his teammates already had faith in him.
"Then it's settled. Let's try it in a training match first."
"Go on then."
Kai grabbed a training bib and jogged onto the pitch, stretching as he went.
Over the last three years, his development has been remarkable.
From a defensive midfielder focused only on breaking up play, Kai had grown into someone with vision — sharper passing, better ball retention, and a real sense of rhythm.
This was why he could accept Wenger's challenge without flinching.
He had been preparing for this moment.
He knew his teammates' preferences and habits — where they liked to receive, how they moved, how they thought. Combined with his uncanny sense of anticipation, he felt ready to direct the entire team.
Before the scrimmage began, Kai gathered the starters and spoke to each of them.
"Don't try to coordinate with me — I'll coordinate with you. Just play your game, make the runs you'd normally make, and shoot when the chance comes."
They all nodded. They'd heard this before — and they trusted him.
Kai had a knack for knowing where they'd be, always finding them with his passes.
The coaches lined up on the sideline, watching closely. They were curious to see if Kai could truly run the show alone.
The whistle blew.
Podolski tapped the ball back to Kai, who returned it immediately.
After a couple of short exchanges, Kai dropped deeper to receive again, muscling his way past a defender and quickly threading a pass behind the right-back for Walcott to chase.
Walcott's touch let him down, and the chance fizzled out — but the sudden change in tempo caught the substitute team completely by surprise.
Wenger and his staff nodded approvingly, though they didn't show much emotion.
Kai had done this before. The real test was whether he could sustain it — whether he could truly organize the team.
As the play continued, the starters began to dominate.
That was Kai's influence.
His instinct was to push forward, to play aggressively — and it spread through the whole team.
From his deeper position near the halfway line, Kai kept collecting the ball and dictating play.
He rarely ventured too high, only advancing when a real opportunity opened up or when there was space for a long shot — though he held back from those today.
This was about control, not glory.
Despite his aggressive intent, he never lost composure.
Under his orchestration, the forwards stopped forcing shots. They only pulled the trigger when they had a genuine opening.
The result? Nearly every attempt was on target, and the substitutes were under constant pressure.
When things got congested, they'd recycle possession — always back to Kai.
He was no silent conductor either; his voice carried across the entire training ground.
"Move left! Push up! Hold that line!"
Whether it was reminders, instructions, or a burst of frustration, he was always communicating.
With his control and his voice guiding them, Arsenal's play looked sharp and fluid.
Wenger smiled slightly, but Pat Rice broke the calm.
"Not enough pressure!" Pat said.
Wenger paused, then nodded. "Alright. Have Sálhi press him hard. Let's see how he handles that."
Pat jogged off to relay the message.
Soon enough, Sálhi was glued to Kai, snapping at his heels.
Kai immediately realized what was happening — the coaches were turning up the heat.
Fine by him.
Sálhi tried to nick the ball from behind, but Kai used his body, planting himself wide and solid like a wall. The move had become second nature to him — simple, but brutally effective.
He shrugged Sálhi off, regained balance, and continued to dictate play as if nothing had happened.
Still, Wenger wasn't satisfied. "Not enough pressure. Get Chamberlain on him, too!"
Two markers now — that was a real test.
With both Sálhi and Chamberlain closing in, the space around Kai shrank fast.
Then his eyes caught Rosicky, drifting quietly toward the center.
You're the one.
Kai received the ball with his back to the goal, with the players closing in fast.
He feinted forward, leaning his body as if he was about to charge ahead.
Sálhi bit. His weight shifted forward for just a moment — and that was enough.
Chamberlain, watching closely, dropped his gaze to track the ball…
Only to realize it wasn't there anymore.
What? Where's the ball?
Before he could even react, the ball had already zipped between Sálhi's legs and rolled perfectly into Rosicky's path.
Rosický took a single touch before sliding it across to Cazorla, who darted into the box and finished from a tight angle.
The whistle blew, but everyone was still processing what they'd just seen.
Pat Rice blinked, then burst out, "He passed it with his heel!"
Wenger raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. "And he only looked at Rosicky once."
Pat nodded, excitement creeping into his voice. "Exactly! Just one glance — one read of the pitch — and he made the call. The pass was inch-perfect too! Under that kind of pressure, he still delivers. If he can do that in training, he can handle it in a match."
One of the assistants, still unconvinced, spoke up. "Then why didn't he pass to Walcott? He had a decent angle as well."
Wenger raised a hand, stopping the session. "Alright, pause it there. Kai, over here."
Kai jogged over, slightly breathless.
"Why didn't you pass to Walcott?" Wenger asked.
Kai blinked, scratching his head. "Because it would've been intercepted."
Wenger tilted his head. "And how are you so sure about that?"
Kai paused for a moment, putting thoughts into words, then said, "Mustafi had already started shifting left, Jenkinson was closing down on Walcott, and Ramsey was tracking across from midfield. Walcott looked open, but if I'd passed, he'd have been boxed in immediately."
Wenger's expression froze — then slowly turned to one of awe.
Pat Rice stared too. "You saw all that — and processed it — that quickly?"
Kai gave a weak grin. "Lucky guess?"
Pat frowned slightly, clearly not convinced.
In truth, Kai was just trying to play it off. He couldn't exactly say he saw it coming before it happened — literally.
If he had passed to Walcott, the ball would've been swallowed up between Jenkinson, Mustafi, and Ramsey. It would've been a turnover waiting to happen.
Rosicky's run, on the other hand, was the right call.
Still, since there was no recording of the scrimmage, he could spin it however he liked.
Whatever he said — went.
...
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