Footbal: Arsenal - Chapter 66: Rest for the Next Match? I Can Live with That (Patreon)

A reporter at the front of the crowd got the first question in.

“Kieran, that forty-meter bicycle kick today was unbelievable. How on earth did you pull it off?”

“Believe me, I was just as surprised when it went in,” Kieran replied. “I didn't even know I could score with a bicycle kick until I'd done it. Maybe all those expectations from the people who care about me brought out some hidden potential.”

He flashed the camera a grin. “Or maybe I'm just the sort of person who gets carried away when the crowd cheers. So, everyone, do me a favor and cheer a little louder next time!”

Outside, supporters watching the interview were already taking him at his word.

Questions came quickly in the mixed zone.

Another reporter leaned forward.

“What about that magnificent bending free kick? How long did you practice it? Did Beckham teach you?”

Kieran listened carefully, then smiled. “I'm glad you asked. I really should thank David Beckham. He spent several days at our training ground and showed me an incredible amount, without holding anything back.”

“Of course, I'm a pretty quick learner myself. And you'll understand why I'm saying that when you hear how David teaches. He'll say, ‘Put your foot here. Bend it down a little, about like this. Yes, that's right. Now use the other foot to strike the ball with the appropriate amount of power. Exactly! Hmm, it didn't go in, but I'd say you've done very well.’”

“Appropriate? What's an appropriate amount of power supposed to be? I spent the entire day trying to work out what that meant!”

He turned toward the camera again. “David, if you're watching, could you please explain what ‘appropriate’ means? As soon as possible. Thanks.”

Laughter broke out. Kieran laughed with them before his expression softened.

“All right, enough teasing. David, if you see this, thank you. I admire you enormously, both as a great footballer and as my friend. I hope your career, your family, and everything else in your life keep going wonderfully.”

The reporters applauded.

Kieran acknowledged them with a smile and continued toward the players' tunnel, only to find another microphone waiting for him.

He stopped to hear the question.

“About Ramos's foul today. Wasn't the referee going to send him off? Why did you go over and speak to the official? Surely a red card for an opponent would have helped Arsenal.”

“Maybe it would have,” Kieran said thoughtfully. “But I didn't look at it that way. Eleven against ten might have improved our odds at that moment. That wasn't what mattered to me.”

“I could hear the supporters cheering and worrying about us. All they wanted was for Arsenal to beat Real Madrid, and I wanted exactly the same thing.”

“If we could earn a three-nil win fair and square, then give those supporters the result they'd been hoping for, I think they'd be proud of us. Proud of me, too.”

The reporter was visibly touched, but pressed him once more.

“And Ramos? You really don't think he deserved a red?”

Kieran raised an eyebrow. “Ramos? Under the rules, he got a yellow card and we got a free kick. Both sides accepted the decision.”

“Some people won't agree with every choice I make. That's normal. We're all different, and living together means learning to respect those differences. I'm not saying this to win approval or to show off how different I am. I thought it was the right thing to do, so I did it.”

“And I'm grateful to everyone who trusts me enough to accept that.”

For a moment the reporter had no words.

Then he joined in the applause himself.

He was genuinely won over.

Before meeting Kieran, he'd struggled to believe that a sixteen-year-old prodigy could be so courteous, modest, and grateful. Yet the affection and appreciation Kieran felt for the fans had been unmistakable.

Something struck him then. The people gathered here were watching a superstar grow up before their eyes.

The interviews continued. Another journalist asked Kieran what he'd been thinking when he intercepted Di María's pass, and what had gone through his mind when he set Arteta up for the final goal.

Kieran answered as he always did, saying what he genuinely thought rather than hunting for an impressive line. By now, talking to reporters felt almost natural.

After several more stops and conversations, he and his teammates finally reached the Arsenal bus.

Wenger and Arteta arrived later. Mourinho had been playing his usual mind games at the post-match press conference, and the verbal sparring with Wenger had dragged on.

When Wenger boarded, he greeted the players with his familiar words. “Give yourselves a round of applause, lads.”

Hands clapped all around the bus.

That was how Wenger liked to run his dressing room. He wasn't a manager who relied on shouting or berating his players. His authority came as much from his care for them as from his reputation.

“And now,” he said, “another round of applause for our man of the match.”

He looked straight at Kieran and began clapping. The response was far louder than the first round. Giroud actually sprang out of his seat to join in.

It was difficult to imagine anyone in this squad disliking Kieran. Certainly nobody had shown any sign of it yet.

Seeing their enthusiasm, Wenger decided the moment was right to announce something.

“Our next Premier League fixture is away to West Bromwich Albion. Kieran, I'd like you to rest on the bench for that one. Would that be all right?”

Wenger could be indecisive in some situations.

When Kieran's health and long-term career were involved, though, he never hesitated to be cautious.

Had Mourinho asked a player that question on the Real Madrid bus, the poor man might have thought he was being dropped from the team. At Arsenal, nobody mistook Wenger's intentions.

They all knew how highly he valued Kieran. The boy was young, extraordinarily talented, and already one of their favorite teammates. The others were quick to back the manager up.

Giroud turned in his seat. “Don't worry, Kieran. West Brom are always going up and down between the Premier League and the Championship. We managed fine against them before you came along. Rest for one match! You promised we'd win the Champions League together. We can't have you picking up even the smallest injury.”

Beside him, Arteta reached over and ruffled Kieran's hair. “Enjoy watching from the sidelines. When it's over, I'll ask you what you thought of it.”