This was Ma Fanshu's first time experiencing something on this scale.
She had seen similar scenes before, even bigger ones on screen, but standing here in person felt completely different. The noise, the movement, the energy, it all pressed in on her at once.
The feeling stayed with her.
She turned and looked at Kai, still trying to process it.
She could not quite understand how someone a year younger than her could draw that kind of reaction from a crowd. The shouting was not casual. It carried weight, like belief made audible, rising and crashing in waves.
This was fewer than a hundred people. If this was what it felt like here, then what would it be like inside Emirates Stadium, with tens of thousands roaring at once?
She felt a chill run down her spine at the thought.
Still, one thing was clear. At twenty-three, Kai had truly grown into the captain of a club of this size. These fans were not easy to impress, yet he had earned them.
Kai parked the car and stepped out. Ma Fanshu followed, camera already in hand.
"You won't be able to get near the dressing room," Kai said. "You'll go with the team bus later. Did the club clear everything?"
"They did," she replied, lifting the camera slightly.
At that moment, Martin Hughes walked over. He shook her hand politely, then glanced at Kai with a grin.
"Don't worry, I'll look after yourfemale friend."
The emphasis was obvious.
Kai shot him a flat look. "Just do your job."
Ma Fanshu smiled. "Please do. I'm counting on you."
She kept filming until Kai disappeared into the dressing room, then followed Martin Hughes toward the training ground.
Inside, most of the squad had already arrived.
"Morning, captain!"
"Feeling sharp today!"
"Give me more passes, yeah?"
"Let's make it loud out there!"
Kai moved through the room, answering each voice as he went.
"Morning."
"Keep making those runs, Luis. The goals will come."
"Sanchez, play for the team."
"We win tonight."
He reached his locker, changed quickly, and headed out with the rest.
The pre-match session was light. Short passing drills, small combinations, and a bit of movement to loosen the body.
Midfielders and forwards worked on simple attacking patterns. Strikers and goalkeepers added finishing and shot-stopping. It was all controlled, no wasted effort.
By the end, everyone had a light sweat, nothing more. Enough to wake the body without draining it.
At noon, the squad gathered for lunch.
Portions were measured. Enough energy, but never too much. Overeating would slow them down later.
Ma Fanshu walked beside Martin Hughes, still filming.
"What if someone needs to urinate during the match?" she asked.
He gave a small laugh. "They manage their intake carefully. Most of it goes through sweat. It rarely happens."
"And if it does?"
"They inform the referee, go quickly, and come back. Or…" he paused, "…handle it on the pitch, though that is not something anyone wants caught on camera."
She frowned slightly. "And what about number two?"
Martin Hughes fell silent for a moment.
Kai, who had run some rounds, stepped in, shaking his head. "Substitution. Obviously."
He looked at her. "Do you plan on asking every possible question today?"
"It's my first time this close," she said. "Details matter."
"They do," Kai replied, "but there are limits."
She smiled. "So you would really take a player off for that?"
"What else would you do?" Kai said. "Leave him out there? The match would fall apart, and the staff would not forget it either."
She nodded, then glanced at the pitch. "No training this afternoon?"
"No. Just a tactical meeting, then we head over."
He turned to Martinez. "Dortmund arrived?"
"They came in this morning," Martinez answered.
Kai gave a short nod. His expression shifted, more focused now.
A perfect group stage record depended on tonight.
. . .
Across London, the mood tightened as the hours passed. The sixth round of the UEFA Champions League group stage was approaching.
Arsenal had already qualified, but finishing top still mattered.
Borussia Dortmund were dangerous, even away.
By five in the evening, the streets began to fill.
Streams of supporters in red and white moved toward Emirates Stadium. Flags rose above the crowd, banners stretched across shoulders, and chants built in rhythm as they marched.
Ma Fanshu kept the camera steady, capturing faces one after another.
Excited. Focused. Expectant.
In that moment, the feeling was shared by everyone heading into the stadium.
Confidence, built by the team they believed in.
. . .
Arsenal's run of steady results had given the squad a quiet confidence.
Borussia Dortmund were a serious side; no one denied that.
Still, this was the Emirates. Arsenal had no intention of giving anything away here.
The roads leading up to Emirates Stadium were packed long before kickoff. Red and white shirts dominated the crowd, with the occasional pocket of Dortmund supporters moving through, small in number but easy to spot.
Above the ground, the lights beneath the roof swept from side to side, cutting across the night and revealing a sea of people below.
Supporters had come in from all over London.
It was only a Champions League group match, but the mood said otherwise.
Tickets had been gone for weeks. Even at double the price, there was nothing left to buy. Some had already secured season tickets for the following year, just to avoid the weekly scramble.
Expensive, yes. Still better than missing out entirely.
Even then, supply never matched demand. Many still had to queue, hoping for a late release.
Tonight was long sold out.
And yet, outside the stadium, fans lingered. They stayed close, unwilling to leave, hoping to be part of the moment in whatever way they could.
They wanted to see Arsenal push into the knockout stage.
For this club, every Champions League campaign carried weight.
When the team was playing well, the support followed everywhere.
Recent figures had even placed Arsenal's home matches among the most in-demand in the Premier League.
The Emirates, once dismissed as quiet, now carried a different identity.
The noise was constant.
The East Stand set the tone.
The Black Shirts, led by figures like Pat, held that section with pride. Their voices rarely dropped from the first whistle to the last.
There was an understanding among them.
If you could not keep up, you did not belong there.
The East Stand had become one of the most sought-after sections in the ground.
A big part of that was Kai.
Whenever he scored, he drifted toward that side, arms out, feeding off the energy and giving something back in return.
That connection meant everything to the supporters.
Watching the match was one thing. Being part of it, even for a moment, was something else entirely.
Entry into that section was not simple. The Black Shirts ran strict checks. Fitness mattered. Commitment mattered. History with the club mattered.
It had turned into a space reserved for the most devoted.
A wall of noise.
"Wow..."
Ma Fanshu had barely stepped into the stand before the heat hit her.
The stadium itself was open and vast, but here, packed shoulder to shoulder, it felt enclosed. The chanting, the movement, even the breath of thousands of voices made the air heavy.
"Keep moving, this way!" Martin Hughes shouted, turning back to make sure she was still with him.
There was no chance of speaking normally.
She followed, pushing through the crowd. The closer they got to the front, the louder it became. The sound was no longer just noise. It pressed against her chest, deep and constant.
By the time they reached the front row, the roar had weight.
It carried through her.
Out on the pitch, Martin Tyler's voice cut through on the broadcast.
"You can feel it tonight. This place is alive. Arsenal supporters have brought real energy to this one."
Beside him, Alan Smith added, calm but firm.
"They know what's at stake. Nights like this can define a group stage. The players will feel every bit of this support."
Down in the stand, the chant rose again, stronger this time, perfectly in sync.
Let's go Arsenal!
Let's go Arsenal!
Let's go Arsenal!
. . .
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