Footbal: Arsenal - Chapter 77: A Rough Day for Arsenal's Players (Patreon)

Feeling completely at ease, Kieran stretched his wrists and ankles near the center circle.

Arsenal's captain for today's coin toss was Vermaelen. He stood beside the referee, facing Real Madrid captain Ramos, as each chose a side of the coin.

Ramos certainly had luck on his side. Once again, he called it correctly and won the right to choose ends.

Having lost the toss, Arsenal were assigned the direction that put them under the greatest pressure from the home supporters. The Gunners were left with the kickoff, which Kieran took from the center spot.

He passed to Cazorla, allowing his teammate to take possession and set the tempo.

Arsenal began cautiously, testing their opponents rather than committing to an attack.

Real Madrid, on the other hand, showed no such restraint in defense.

Madrid's players looked almost like a different team from the one Arsenal had faced in the first leg. Perhaps it was the home advantage, but their movement off the ball was much more forceful and they challenged with real aggression.

Pepe, playing at center-back, stuck to Kieran like a shadow. Wherever Kieran went, Pepe followed.

That made it much harder to escape his marker than it had been during his Champions League debut. Against Juventus, he'd come on in the 75th minute with fresh legs and faced aging opponents who were already exhausted from seventy-five minutes of football.

Back then, he could run without worrying about conserving energy, wear the defenders down, and leave them behind. This was an entirely different situation.

As a starter, Kieran had to learn to manage his stamina, knowing when to work flat out and when to rest.

Since Pepe was making it almost impossible for him to run freely, he might as well conserve his strength.

Besides, he was playing as a center-forward. Unless his teammates supplied him with the ball, it was difficult to collect possession from deep against Madrid's organized defense.

The match settled into a stalemate.

Over in the Sky Sports studio, Martin and Jamie were commentating again. By now, they were practically Arsenal's regular broadcast pairing.

Martin followed the ball around the pitch. “Wilshere has it for Arsenal. Now it's with Ramsey. Ramsey controls, looks up, and plays it back to Vermaelen at center-back.”

“The opening tempo is very slow. Arsenal aren't showing much urgency on the ball. They're mostly keeping possession and exchanging passes, perhaps still finding their rhythm with this changed lineup. Madrid, meanwhile, seem unusually fired up.”

Jamie was an open admirer of Kieran and had never bothered to hide his preference. His attention remained fixed on Arsenal's young forward.

“You could sense the difference in Madrid's players from the first whistle,” he cut in. “Mourinho has specifically tasked Pepe with shutting Kieran down. We all know what a capable defender Pepe is. Keeping Kieran pinned down up front is one way to blunt Arsenal's attack.”

“But we've seen how Kieran responds whenever his team needs him. How long can Madrid really keep him quiet? I'm not convinced it will last.”

Arsenal had now spent ten minutes circulating the ball. Madrid hadn't managed to win it from them once, but Arsenal hadn't created a single attacking chance either.

Possession went back and forth, one short pass after another, until the match became almost hypnotically dull. Spectators who watched the ball too closely were beginning to feel sleepy.

But it was still early, and everyone knew this was the calm before the storm. Madrid needed four goals to overturn the three-goal deficit from the first leg.

There was no chance they intended to stay this quiet.

Mourinho remained on the touchline, watching the game with a composed expression.

His players had begun to understand Arsenal's rhythm. They no longer let themselves be distracted by the threat Kieran posed whenever he occupied an attacking position.

Following Mourinho's preparations, Madrid settled into two banks of four that shifted together to cover Arsenal's players. Every man knew his position and his assignment.

And while Arsenal passed the ball around without making progress, Madrid set about provoking mistakes.

Khedira, the Madrid holding midfielder, moved across with the defensive line until he was close enough to challenge Cazorla.

He began sneaking in little elbows and using his forearm to knock against Cazorla's arm. The movements were small, hardly enough to cause serious pain, but infuriating all the same.

Cazorla was normally easygoing, yet even he could feel his temper rising. He swallowed his annoyance and kept his attention on controlling and passing the ball.

His patience, however, didn't extend to every Arsenal player.

On the right side of Madrid's defense, Essien was marking Podolski at close range when he suddenly slipped in a punch. He struck while the referee was looking elsewhere and immediately ran off.

Podolski was left fuming. When the next pass arrived, his first touch sent the ball three meters away.

He stumbled after it, only to send his attempted pass wildly off target, almost straight to a Madrid player. Thankfully, Cazorla arrived in time to rescue possession.

At the same time, Madrid left-back Coentrão had turned his attention to Vermaelen.

Whenever he defended against the Arsenal center-back, he repeatedly drove his knee into the muscles of Vermaelen's legs.

Vermaelen had spent the season recovering from one injury only to suffer another. Faced with this constant physical harassment, he couldn't settle into the match.

And Coentrão didn't limit himself to physical tricks. He had plenty to say, too.

“Hey! How come I've never seen you before? Oh, wait! Is that the captain's armband? So you're Arsenal's captain!”

“Do your teammates even listen to you? Ha! Don't take it the wrong way. It's just that you don't look like much of a player, so I can't blame them if they don't treat you like a star.”

“Oh, now I remember! You're the one who's always going off injured, aren't you? Made of glass? Sorry, I'm not making fun of you. I'm just telling the truth.”

“You're not going to get injured halfway through this match, are you? I'd better watch myself. Don't go blaming me if it happens.”

Vermaelen was so furious he scarcely knew which insult to answer first.

Eventually, he decided to give as good as he got. “I thought Marcelo was Madrid's regular left-back. You're nowhere near his level. What happened? Did you bribe the manager to get into the starting lineup?”

Coentrão merely smiled. “Really? I'm nowhere near Marcelo? Then why am I starting? Perhaps I follow the manager's tactical instructions better. What about you, though? You hardly ever get into your own starting eleven this season. What, don't you like playing football?”

Vermaelen couldn't match Coentrão in a war of words. The comeback hit him right where it hurt.

And his anger was only one part of the problem.

Every time an opponent used one of those dirty little tricks, he instinctively tried to protect his legs instead of committing fully to the challenge.

That hesitation distorted his movements. Given the enormous psychological strain Vermaelen was already under this season, the effect was even worse.