As time went on, the chants of Arsenal supporters grew louder, echoing across the Emirates.
The first half was nearly over, and Chelsea still hadn't managed to mount any real threat. Arsenal held the lead, and the visitors were stuck in an uncomfortable, reactive position.
That early goal had hit Chelsea harder than they expected — it had completely thrown their rhythm off.
Moments later, Howard Webb's whistle brought the half to a close.
Both sides began walking toward the tunnel.
"Beautiful! Absolutely beautiful!"
Billy downed the last of his beer, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and laughed. "One-nil up at halftime, controlling the midfield — Chelsea can't even break out. This is the dream scenario!"
Around him, Arsenal fans were all smiles.
From the very first whistle, the Gunners had dictated the flow. Their shape, movement, and discipline were everything Wenger had preached all season.
The fans were electric. Watching this kind of Arsenal made them believe again — that they were finally one step away from England's grandest prize.
Just the thought of it sent shivers down their spines.
..
Inside the Arsenal dressing room, the atmosphere was steady but focused.
"Keep the rhythm, don't rush it!"
"Good job, everyone!"
"Stay switched on — we're leading, but we can't relax!"
The players exchanged quick encouragements before taking their seats.
Then Wenger walked in, clapped twice, and said firmly, "Eyes on me."
Everyone turned toward him.
"Your first half was excellent," Wenger began, his tone calm but sharp. "But there are still a few details we must fix. Don't get overconfident. We need control, not chaos. Be patient, be precise — understand?"
"Understood!" the players responded in unison.
Wenger turned to the tactics board and began sketching adjustments. The overall plan stayed the same — possession with discipline — but the tweaks were clear.
"Cazorla, switch flanks with Walcott when needed," Wenger explained. "Chelsea's back line isn't pushing up, so we'll have to create from the wings. Theo, stay alert — one good run at the right time could kill this game."
Then he looked toward Kai.
"Kai, keep pressing in midfield. Don't give Oscar any space — he's not your equal there."
Kai nodded confidently.
He'd already figured Oscar out during the first half. The Brazilian seemed… off. His play was rougher, his creativity dulled.
Last season, Oscar had been unpredictable — sharp passes, clever turns. This version seemed slower and seemed out of it.
Kai wondered if that someone was him.
..
In Chelsea's dressing room, Mourinho stood before his players, eyes intense.
"We need to wake up," he said, voice low but cutting. "The first half is done — forget it. I know what you can do. You've shown it before."
He paused, scanning the room.
"But listen carefully — on this pitch, you can't be the good guys. Good guys don't win in football. When you face a group of bastards, you have to become even bigger bastards. That's the reality."
His words hung in the air.
Then he looked directly at Oscar, who sat quietly, his jaw tight.
"I'm not making any changes," Mourinho said firmly. "I trust every one of you. That trust is a responsibility — not a gift. Play like men who want to win this trophy for our fans in West London. They're counting on you."
He straightened up. "Be the villains here at the Emirates — and the heroes when we go home to Stamford Bridge."
Chelsea captain John Terry rose to his feet, his voice booming.
"This is it — last match of the season! If you don't want it to end like this, then bleed for it! Let's remind Arsenal who we are — show them that they're nothing compared to us! They are relics of the last era!"
He clapped his hands hard. "Come on, boys! Let's go out there and prove the Premier League belongs to Chelsea!"
Applause and shouts filled the room, their morale restored.
Moments later, the staff called for both sides to return to the pitch.
Under the floodlights, the players walked back out, faces set and focused.
Everyone knew — the next forty-five minutes would decide everything.
No changes. No excuses. Just the final battle for the English crown.
..
Arsenal kicked off to start the second half — but almost immediately, things began to unravel.
Chelsea came out like a team possessed. Their tackles were sharper, their pressing relentless. Every Arsenal player who received the ball was instantly surrounded.
The Gunners' smooth passing rhythm began to stutter. They were forced to retreat, playing back through Kai to recycle possession, often passing laterally across their own half.
Kai, controlling the tempo, frowned as he surveyed the pitch.
Chelsea's energy was different now. Whatever Mourinho had said at halftime had clearly worked. The same players who'd looked sluggish in the first half were now fired up, hunting the ball like wolves.
Clap!
Cazorla had just taken a touch when Oscar and David Luiz pounced — one from the front, one from behind.
They stripped him clean.
Oscar didn't linger on the ball. Instead, he quickly passed it back to David Luiz, who didn't hesitate. The Brazilian looked up and launched a long, arcing pass straight toward Eto'o.
Kai turned the instant Luiz struck it, sprinting back at full pace — but the distance was too much.
Eto'o brought the ball down with effortless control, glided past Mertesacker again, and surged into the box.
One-on-one with Szczęsny, he coolly slotted the ball into the bottom-left corner.
The net rippled.
Just five minutes into the second half, Chelsea had drawn level.
It was ruthless — pure counterattacking precision.
Martin Taylor's voice rose on Sky Sports commentary.
"Eto'o! The African Lion strikes again! A massive goal for Chelsea — they've levelled it at one-all! Barely five minutes into the second half, and that's the response Mourinho wanted! The Blues are showing exactly why they can never be written off!"
Alan Smith added, "It's that killer instinct. They barely had a sniff in the first half, but the moment Arsenal relaxed, bang — punished."
Eto'o sprinted toward the corner flag and, with a grin, leaned on it like a walking stick.
It was his cheeky answer to Mourinho's earlier jibe about his age — a dig that had sparked plenty of headlines in recent weeks.
Mourinho, on the sidelines, just smiled and clapped, clearly pleased with both the finish and the defiant humour.
Kai stood near the centre circle, expression hardening as Chelsea celebrated.
For all the talk about age, the veteran's control and composure were still world-class. One chance — that's all he needed.
A few hundred Chelsea fans erupted in one corner of the stadium, but their cheers were quickly drowned out by a wall of boos from the Arsenal faithful.
As play resumed, Arsenal's players trudged back into position, visibly shaken.
Mertesacker, in particular, looked crestfallen.
Two times now, Eto'o had gotten past him. Both times, his lack of pace had been ruthlessly exposed.
In past matches, Kai's defensive presence in front of the backline had shielded him. But now, as the midfield conductor, Kai couldn't drop as deep as before.
Without that cover, Mertesacker was left to face Chelsea's strikers on his own — and it was starting to show.
...
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