Footbal: Arsenal - Chapter 63: Kieran: Hello to You, You Too, and Everyone Else! (Patreon)

Perhaps Kieran had scored so many goals with his explosive solo runs that people had almost forgotten he knew how to pass.

That was what made the third goal such a wonderful surprise.

Arteta, who had benefited from Kieran's assist, hadn't scored in quite some time this season. The sheer pleasure of finding the net gave him just enough strength to lift the youngster off the ground.

He managed it for about five seconds. After ninety exhausting minutes, there was simply nothing left in his legs.

Kieran had no desire to flatten his captain, and he wasn't going to let the others bury them beneath another mountain of celebrating teammates either.

Instead, he suggested they finally perform the dance they'd discussed after the Tottenham match.

The stadium's goal music was already playing. If there was ever a time to celebrate with a song and a dance, it was now!

Giroud, watching from the substitutes' bench after being taken off, enthusiastically joined in from a distance.

The Arsenal players streamed toward the touchline in high spirits. Their bright, youthful smiles alone were enough to make the supporters happy.

With Giroud leading the way, Kieran pushed Arteta into the center of the group.

Then the players started moving to the beat of Arsenal's goal music.

It wasn't a complicated routine. They swayed their bodies, moved their arms, and kept to the rhythm.

But their timing was so good and their movements so lively that the whole thing looked surprisingly impressive.

If not for their red-and-white shirts, people might have mistaken them for Brazil's national team.

There was no denying it. Since Kieran had become part of the squad, Arsenal seemed more relaxed and cheerful with every passing day.

The players got so caught up in the dance that they forgot the referee hadn't actually ended stoppage time.

They practically danced the remaining minutes away.

By the time Giroud and the others reluctantly finished, Madrid's players were still standing around wondering what had happened to their lives.

It took a replay on the giant screen for some of them to understand how Arteta had scored.

From their point of view, they'd been completely focused on stopping Kieran. Then, in the blink of an eye, Arsenal had put the ball in the net.

How the hell had that happened?

With barely two minutes left when the goal went in, there was essentially no chance of coming back. Nobody bothered interrupting Arsenal's celebration.

A few of Madrid's more easygoing players even watched the whole dance. Marcelo, the Brazilian left-back, seemed particularly entertained.

If he hadn't been wearing the opposition's shirt, he might have sneaked over to join in himself.

The dance wasn't especially long, and afterward Arsenal's players returned to their positions without prompting.

Madrid had barely kicked off when the referee sounded his whistle.

Peeep! Peeep! Peeeeep!

Stoppage time was over. So was the match.

Arsenal had defeated Real Madrid 3–0 in the first leg of their Champions League quarterfinal!

The supporters were beside themselves.

Their celebration continued without a break. As the Arsenal anthem rang around Emirates Stadium, people swayed, sang, and shouted until their voices grew hoarse.

Nobody had dared predict such a comfortable first leg beforehand.

Even without the three-goal margin, keeping Madrid from scoring an away goal would have been plenty to celebrate.

Arsenal's defense relied on anticipation and keeping possession rather than the relentless physical battles common in the Premier League. Against clubs from other leagues, those strengths sometimes became even more effective.

But the opponents today had been Real Madrid.

This was the club with more European Cups than any other team. Arsenal's supporters might have fancied their chances, but they hadn't truly expected to dominate such an opponent.

Having never won the Champions League themselves, they couldn't help feeling a little insecure when comparing their history with Madrid's.

Now, with three-nil glowing on the scoreboard, that uncertainty evaporated.

With Kieran in their team and such a lead to defend, the Gooners were suddenly ready to declare that Arsenal would absolutely knock Madrid out in the quarterfinals.

Down on the pitch, the players began circulating among their opponents, shaking hands after the final whistle.

Friendship first, competition second. That was the noble principle every sporting contest was supposed to uphold.

At least the post-match rituals were designed to make it look that way.

Men who had spent ninety minutes fighting tooth and nail were now politely congratulating and greeting one another. They might barely know their opponents, but they could still behave like gentlemen.

Kieran, who wasn't personally acquainted with any of Madrid's players, had a simple reaction.

Well, he'd get to know them now!

He spotted Cristiano Ronaldo watching him from a distance.

As Kieran came over, Ronaldo smiled and offered his hand.

Kieran took it with both enthusiasm and vigor, shaking it hard before pulling him into a hug.

Ronaldo and Messi! Those had been his two favorite wingers to use in football games in his previous life.

He knew just how good Ronaldo could be.

Yet the Portuguese star hadn't been able to show much of his individual ability tonight.

Madrid's dressing room was divided, and a number of players seemed to have lost their appetite for football. The oppressive mood in the away dressing room before the match had only made tensions worse.

On the pitch, an invisible barrier separated teammates. It looked all the more obvious next to Arsenal's easy unity.

Football took eleven players. Even if Ronaldo had remained entirely unaffected, one or two motivated stars couldn't easily overcome a whole team playing without conviction.

And Ronaldo knew he hadn't escaped the atmosphere himself.

Watching the way Kieran and his Arsenal teammates treated one another only deepened his worry. Unless Madrid resolved their divisions, their Champions League campaign might not go much further.

Still, he genuinely liked Kieran. The boy's ability, performance, and sportsmanship had won his respect, and Ronaldo wasn't inclined to act aloof simply to protect his reputation.

“Kieran, fancy swapping shirts?” he asked.

“Sure!”

Kieran pulled off his shirt and exchanged it with Ronaldo on the spot.

Di María, who'd been approaching a moment too late, quietly drew back.

He had barely taken a step when Kieran caught hold of him and enthusiastically shook his hand.

“Di María! We didn't get a chance to talk during the match. Tell me something. That tackle I made on you didn't hurt, did it?”

Di María went very still.

Oh, no. That ridiculous bit of acting was coming back to haunt him.

He forced out a little laugh. “Not at all. It was a perfectly clean tackle. Didn't hurt one bit.”

Ramos had been quietly making his way over. Hearing that answer, he edged backward again.

Was Di María having a dig at someone in particular?

Kieran nodded, relieved.

Only after Ramos's earlier challenge had he discovered just how painful a sliding tackle could be. Di María had certainly exaggerated his reaction, but that didn't prove he hadn't felt anything.

He was still inclined to ask whether the man was genuinely all right.

Then he caught Ramos pretending to stroll past out of the corner of his eye. Kieran immediately grabbed him and drew him into a friendly handshake.

After all, he was right there!