"Oh—my—word!"
"That's unbelievable!"
"We've pulled it level!"
"If we maintain this score… that's the title, isn't it?"
"Hah! Kai, I could kiss you right now!"
Arsenal players swarmed Kai in celebration, piling in with shouts and laughter.
The goal had lifted the entire team.
Legs, which had felt heavy moments ago, suddenly felt almost weightless, as if a rush of adrenaline had surged through them. The tension on everyone's faces melted into bright, genuine smiles.
Kai felt it too—the shift in the team's mood, the spark returning.
To him, that strike had been more of a test, a gamble.
But somehow, it worked.
Had Terry picked him up earlier, the chance would've been gone in an instant.
"Alright! It isn't finished yet. Let's give ourselves something even firmer to stand on!"
For a moment, everyone paused, then their eyes hardened with determination.
A draw would still crown Arsenal champions.
But they wanted more than that. They wanted certainty—victory on their own terms.
How do you secure it?
You score again.
Kai's equaliser had ignited them.
Arsenal players walked back toward their half shoulder to shoulder, while Chelsea looked shaken.
Oscar in particular was rattled. He stared blankly at Kai, as over 60,000 Arsenal fans thundered the midfielder's name.
Whatever grudges he held against Kai, that strike silenced him.
It wasn't beautiful because of technique, but because of what it meant.
With the title on the line, that goal was pure gold.
Oscar kept staring after Kai until a hand tapped his shoulder.
Schürrle gestured toward the touchline. "You're being taken off."
Oscar's face drained of colour.
He turned and saw Salah and Torres waiting, and Mourinho glaring at him, stone-cold.
Oscar froze.
Torres wasn't even his position's substitute. This wasn't tactical. It was punishment.
He looked at Mourinho, hoping for mercy.
Mourinho simply shook his head.
Shoulders slumped, Oscar trudged off.
Kai noticed him leaving and felt a pang of sympathy. Oscar had been excellent last season.
But Mourinho's attempts to reshape him… hadn't worked.
What Kai didn't know was that Mourinho's frustration with Oscar had been building for a while.
Both teams made changes, and the match shifted again.
After the 70th minute, the pace spiked. Arsenal's attacks grew sharper, while Kai dropped deeper to reinforce the midfield. Cazorla pulled into the centre to direct the play.
Chelsea switched to wide attacks and early crosses toward Torres, but he still wasn't right, and Kai—battle-hardened from marking Cristiano Ronaldo—kept him completely quiet.
Still, Torres pressed high tirelessly. Even isolated, he hunted the ball, but Arsenal, stretched and organised through Kai, played around him.
Their control in the defensive half was too solid for one man to disrupt.
"The pressure's all on Chelsea now," Martin Taylor called out. "If this stands, they lose the title today. But they're still pumping balls forward… and Kai keeps winning everything in the air!"
Alan Smith added, "Arsenal look much calmer now. Their rhythm's back, and you can see the cohesion returning."
Martin chuckled, "What a match. There's no telling how this ends."
Meanwhile, in the stands, Meadows felt the moment demanded something more.
Matches like this come down to will.
Arsenal had the home crowd—now they needed to use it.
He turned to his fellow fans. "We've got to lift the place. Let the boys hear us. And remind Chelsea exactly where they are."
"Make some noise. Don't let anyone call this a library tonight!"
He drew a huge breath.
"Forward—!"
"Gunners!!"
The stadium erupted.
"Forward—!"
"Gunners!!"
"Chelsea—!"
"Are shit!!"
A tidal wave of hisses crashed down from all sides.
The noise was so sharp that Ivanović miscontrolled a pass, his touch skidding away. Rosický pounced but had to leap over Ivanović's sliding tackle as the ball spun loose.
Arsenal fans roared—
The pressure was working.
Kai listened, impressed. Anyone would flinch at that kind of wall of sound.
Guardiola once said attacks begin with the goalkeeper.
Arsenal began with the fans.
They caught on quickly—
Boo Chelsea's touches, stay silent for Arsenal's.
Under that storm, Arsenal grew more confident. Chelsea looked increasingly shaken.
Time ticked away.
Suddenly, it was the 85th minute.
Arsenal's midfield had pushed deep into Chelsea territory, laying siege to their box. The match felt like the opening minutes again—Arsenal hammering away.
Kai believed no defence is unbreakable with enough force; every wall cracks.
So they kept going.
"Chelsea are in real trouble now," Alan Smith said. "They're suffocating under this pressure. The title's slipping right through their fingers!"
Terry cleared desperately. Torres and Hazard sprinted toward the falling ball.
But someone was already underneath it.
Kai killed it with his thigh, rolled it away with the opposite knee, and spun past both men in one motion.
Torres and Hazard lunged, but Kai had already released the ball.
"Damn it!"
"Come on!"
They glared at him, baffled.
How was he that energetic?
Truthfully, Kai was close to spent. Those constant duels had drained him. Even his strong frame had limits.
But he refused to stop. He could feel Chelsea cracking.
If he held on long enough, Arsenal would score.
"Go for it, Santi!"
"Hit them again!"
"Switch to Walcott!"
"Rosický's free on the wing!"
The Arsenal fans had turned into 60,000 managers.
..
Under the bright floodlights, the Emirates was alive with colour and noise.
In the stands, Arsenal supporters stood shoulder-to-shoulder, arms linked, singing at the top of their lungs. They refused to stop—every shout, every chant was for the players fighting on the pitch.
On the field, Arsenal and Chelsea were still pushing themselves through the final stretch.
Bodies were heavy, legs were burning, but neither side backed down.
Winning a title was never meant to be easy.
After 38 league rounds—3420 minutes—the fate of the season now hung on the final ten.
Exciting for some. Agonising for others.
Chelsea fans prayed for one more push, one more moment to tilt the trophy their way.
Arsenal fans screamed themselves hoarse.
Ten years… ten long years without the prize that defined them.
They didn't want to wait anymore—they COULDN'T wait anymore.
How many decades does a person get in a lifetime?
So forward they roared—
Go on, you Gunners!
"Press them higher! Don't drop off!"
"Go on, Cazorla! Keep going!"
"Walcott, push up!"
"This is it! Last game—everything you've got!"
Kai's voice cut through the chaos again and again. Everyone was already running on fumes, yet no one dared to ease up.
The championship was right there.
One moment.
One surge.
One final stand.
Arsenal pushed forward relentlessly—Wilshere, Podolski, Walcott, Cazorla, even Luke made run after run into Chelsea's box.
Chelsea refused to break. Terry and Cahill threw themselves into every block, every duel.
Two teams giving everything for one crown.
But only one would lift it.
As Kai sprinted, he glanced up at the stadium clock.
Five minutes vanished in a heartbeat.
88th minute.
Barely anything left.
Arsenal recycled the ball. It came back to Kai, who immediately sent it to Koscielny and gestured for everyone to drop.
Chelsea's defenders exhaled—
And then Cech's roar cut through the night.
"Step up! Arsenal are dropping deep! Check the time!"
Terry and the others spun around.
89 minutes.
Damn it.
Chelsea burst forward with everything they had left. They knew the truth—fail to score now, and the title slips away.
Arsenal retreated completely, Kai even sinking into the penalty area.
The script flipped instantly—
Attackers became defenders.
"Arsenal are locking this down—they're ready to hold the draw now!"
Martin Taylor's voice tightened.
Alan Smith added, "Chelsea don't have long left. They need something—anything."
Easier said than done.
With Kai in the box, he turned into a makeshift centre-half—heading clear, cutting lanes, timing tackles like he'd been doing it his whole career.
And Szczesny?
He was everywhere, flying across his goal to parry shot after shot.
Chelsea weren't given a single clean look.
Then injury time arrived.
Panic crept into the Blues.
Their entire backline pushed forward. Even Cech wandered up to the centre circle as wave after wave crashed into Arsenal's defence.
Around the Emirates, fans stood frozen, knuckles white, barely breathing.
Down on the pitch, Arsenal players grimaced with every step, but kept going.
Every Gunner on the pitch was running purely on will.
"Two minutes! Two more minutes—hold on!!" Meadows screamed from the stands, veins standing out on his neck, chest heaving beneath the Arsenal crest tattooed over his heart.
That word—champion—burned inside him.
Arsenal once owned it.
Then the decade hit them hard.
Now, they were close—so close to reclaiming everything they'd lost.
"Hold the line! Koscielny!"
"Captain—watch Schürrle!"
"Well done!"
Billy rushed to the railing, gripping it so tightly his hands went pale.
He shouted until his voice cracked, until he felt like he might burst.
Around him, thousands did the same—one united roar.
"One minute!!"
"One minute!!!"
"One minute!!!!"
On the touchline, Wenger was trembling—hands numb, legs weak.
He knew what was at stake.
A title ends the drought.
A title restores belief.
His staff didn't fare any better—some knelt and prayed, some chewed nervously at their nails, others covered their eyes.
The players on the bench were ready to explode from the tension alone.
Meanwhile, Mourinho barked orders non-stop, urging his side to push higher, find space, shoot—anything.
Then it happened.
Hazard twisted past Ramsey with a rapid series of feints and burst toward the box.
Koscielny closed in—but Hazard slid the ball across.
To Torres.
Torres bumped Mustafi aside, set himself, and struck with his instep.
"Torres!"
"Arsenal in serious trouble!"
The stadium went silent.
Kai's heart lurched—then he charged toward the goal.
Crack!
Szczesny's outstretched leg blocked it, the ball spinning upward.
Those long legs finally paid off.
Kai reached it first and swung through—
Not to clear.
To pass.
"Lucas! Last chance!!"
With a shout, Kai launched the ball upfield to the right flank.
All the Chelsea players had been sucked into Arsenal's box. Only Cech trailed behind them.
Podolski brought the ball down with ease, spun, and accelerated.
"Kai's disrupted it—it's a pass! Podolski's through! Onside in his own half!"
Alan Smith's voice rose.
Martin Taylor nearly leapt out of his seat:
"Is this the moment? Open goal—just Cech chasing! One-on-one!"
Podolski outpaced the keeper, raced into Chelsea's box…
And calmly rolled the ball home.
The Emirates exploded.
A volcano—pure, unfiltered joy.
"A decisive strike!! A title-winning strike!!"
Martin Taylor shouted over the roar.
Alan Smith followed, breathless,
"Podolski! He's delivered the moment Arsenal fans waited a decade for! This is it! Chelsea can't come back now!"
"The Emirates is rocking—this is only the second major trophy lifted here!"
"And the last one was just last season!"
"Back-to-back silverware—a FA Cup, and now the Premier League!"
"Arsenal fans—your club is reborn! The Gunners are back!"
"Chelsea gave everything—Mourinho's side have been superb this season. But tonight belongs to Arsenal!"
"Tonight belongs to every Gunner!"
...
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