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Starting as a Defensive Midfielder at Real Madrid

Chapter 227 - 225: Premier League Overlords, Kings of London! · Nov 11, 2026

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Chapter List (401)

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201 Chapter 201 - 199: Two Matches, Three Goals Created—The Dominant Core Keeps Rising, Trouble Ahead for Manchester United 2026-11-11
202 Chapter 202 - 200: He’s Not Here to Challenge—He’s Here to Conquer the Premier League! 2026-11-11
203 Chapter 203 - 201: The Premier League Landscape After Three Consecutive Wins – A Well-Deserved August Best! 2026-11-11
204 Chapter 204 - 202: FIFA Virus Takes Its Toll—Li Ang as the Ultimate Safety Net! 2026-11-11
205 Chapter 205 - 203: Chelsea in Danger! Time to Call on the Little Lion to Rescue the Team! 2026-11-11
206 Chapter 206 - 204: A Hero in Crisis—The First Real Fixture Test of the Season 2026-11-11
207 Chapter 207 - 205: In London, Lose to Anyone but Spurs? Never! 2026-11-11
208 Chapter 208 - 206: Me? I Love Playing Against Old Friends 2026-11-11
209 Chapter 209 - 207: Robin Hood Chelsea, Generous Givers to Liverpool 2026-11-11
210 Chapter 210 - 208: The Little Beast Fooled Lame by Li Ang 2026-11-11
211 Chapter 211 - 209: Li Ang’s Plan to Reach Double-Doubles in Half a Season 2026-11-11
212 Chapter 212 - 210: The Little Lion Gives the Youngsters Another Masterclass 2026-11-11
213 Chapter 213 - 211: Cesc, Don’t Run—Changing Leagues Won’t Save You 2026-11-11
214 Chapter 214 - 212: Li Ang’s Been Waiting to Unleash on Guardiola’s Team 2026-11-11
215 Chapter 215 - 213: The First Hat-Trick of His Career! 2026-11-11
216 Chapter 216 - 214: Letting the Youngsters Play? That’s Not “Throwing the Game”—It’s Called Smart Rotation! 2026-11-11
217 Chapter 217 - 215: Fighting for First Place in the Champions League Group—Li Ang and Zlatan Go Wild 2026-11-11
218 Chapter 218 - 216: Premier League’s Top Chance Creator, Top Three in Two Charts, Best Defender—This Is Li Ang! 2026-11-11
219 Chapter 219 - 217: Fiery Little Lion in Protective Mode, Live and Online 2026-11-11
220 Chapter 220 - 218: Who Advances in the Final Round? The King of London Decides 2026-11-11
221 Chapter 221 - 219: Let’s See What You’re Made Of, Youth Brigade 2026-11-11
222 Chapter 222 - 220: You Want Me to Choose? Then I Pick Bayern in the Knockout Stage! 2026-11-11
223 Chapter 223 - 221: 13 Goals + 10 Assists, Double Double Achieved! 2026-11-11
224 Chapter 224 - 222: First Knockout Round Against PSG — Li Ang Wants 272 to Feel Despair! 2026-11-11
225 Chapter 225 - 223: Set a Small Goal First—Let’s Win the League Cup 2026-11-11
226 Chapter 226 - 224: Welcome Back to the Era of the Iron-Blooded Blues Dominating the Premier League! 2026-11-11
227 Chapter 227 - 225: Premier League Overlords, Kings of London! 2026-11-11
228 Chapter 228 - 226: Premier League’s Top Star? He Already Is 2026-11-11
229 Chapter 229 - 227: Starting the Year with Two Young Bulls — Mourinho’s Foundation-Laying Frenzy 2026-11-11
230 Chapter 230 - 228: See You in the League Cup Final! 2026-11-11
231 Chapter 231 - 229: Another Award Season, Mourinho’s Real Madrid Hauls It In 2026-11-11
232 Chapter 232 - 230: Manchester United Doesn’t Want to Be Graceful? Then Let’s Help Them Be! 2026-11-11
233 Chapter 233 - 231: City Breathing Down Their Necks, Mourinho Makes a Decision 2026-11-11
234 Chapter 234 - 232: The Premier League Revival – Pep vs. Mou, Clash for the Top 2026-11-11
235 Chapter 235 - 233: Damn, We’ve Become the Stand-Ins 2026-11-11
236 Chapter 236 - 234: Reconciled League Leaders, Ecstatic Arsenal Meet Misery 2026-11-11
237 Chapter 237 - 235: Defensive Crisis – Trouble Ahead for Chelsea? 2026-11-11
238 Chapter 238 - 236: Coach, Let Me Play Center-Back! 2026-11-11
239 Chapter 239 - 237: ”I Can Really Do This! Want to Give It a Try?!” 2026-11-11
240 Chapter 240 - 238: This Time, the Lafite’s on Me! 2026-11-11
241 Chapter 241 239: I Won’t Just Shut You Down—I’m Scoring Over You Too 2026-11-11
242 Chapter 242 240: The Clutch Prince, Opener of Carnage 2026-11-11
243 Chapter 243 241: Winning by Four Isn’t Enough—Leon, the Ruthless One 2026-11-11
244 Chapter 244 242: A Lavish 20+18—Leon’s Statement 2026-11-11
245 Chapter 245 243: The Premier League’s Common Enemy—The Little Lion 2026-11-11
246 Chapter 246 244: So You’re Also Attracted by Looks 2026-11-11
247 Chapter 247 245: Pep, Every Encounter in This World Is... 2026-11-11
248 Chapter 248 246: Double Twenty, League Cup Champion—I Want It All! 2026-11-11
249 Chapter 249 247: A Season in Miniature, Born a Champion 2026-11-11
250 Chapter 250 2026-11-11

”They’re back! I know, maybe it’s still too early to say that... but for me personally, the Chelsea I remember—the iron-willed, fire-forged counterattacking machine—has returned to my vision!

Just like in the summer of 2004, when Mourinho first arrived at this club and did what no one else had done, he’s doing it again!

He’s building a team of true champions!

That Chelsea conquered the Premier League. And after three years away from the trophy, Roman Abramovich brought back the man who once injected this club with soul—the Special One!

He returned to London with his proudest protégé in tow.

Now, right in front of us, Mourinho and his new Chelsea are delivering a performance worthy of royalty.

This… is the return of the King.”

Sky Sports’ commentator was nearly shouting into the mic, and his excitement ignited a wave of nostalgia across England.

Fans recalled the mighty Chelsea that had once swept through the Premier League like a blue storm.

Some fans love flair—dazzling attacks, slick passing, fluid combinations.

But others love grit—fierce tackling, bone-crunching duels, unrelenting defense.

Mourinho’s first Chelsea?

It was the ultimate expression of the latter.

Before this clash with Arsenal, many Chelsea fans had quietly worried about a possible ”Waterloo moment.”

After all, over the past three seasons—barring that fairytale Champions League run in 2012—Chelsea had looked more and more like a faded power.

They weren’t contenders anymore.

That was obvious to every fan before the summer.

Since getting knocked out by Barça in 08–09, the Blues had been in steady decline.

Their miracle 2012 run, full of grit and drama, ended in heartbreak against Mourinho’s Real Madrid.

The tears of the old guard shattered the hearts of every Chelsea supporter.

”Teams like the 2012 Chelsea—so miraculous, so unbreakable—you may never see again.”

Li Ang had said that in a post-match interview.

It was a quote Chelsea fans never forgot.

Maybe that’s why, the moment Li Ang transferred to Chelsea, he was embraced like one of their own.

He genuinely loved the club.

He’d never hidden that fact—not even at Real Madrid.

He respected Chelsea deeply.

He was a Chelsea fan.

And to the club’s supporters, he was one of them.

So when Mourinho declared that he would ”build a new Chelsea around Li Ang,” the fans were behind it 100%.

As the season progressed, the dreamlike results brought joy and surprise.

But for many Chelsea fans, there was always a shadow of doubt.

Sure, they’d already beaten some big teams—City, Spurs, Everton…

Not every win was easy, but Chelsea had always looked like the better side.

Still, that doubt lingered.

Until now.

Before the match against Arsenal, fans were posting half-joking messages online:

”Even if we lose, it’s okay. I just hope the boys don’t get discouraged—they’ve already done so well.”

It sounded like perspective.

But deep down, it was fear.

Fear from last season’s early Champions League exit, the painful Europa League final loss to Atlético.

Fear from the chaotic domestic campaigns—scraping into fourth place on the final day.

Chelsea fans had gotten used to heartbreak.

They weren’t used to being elite again.

So when Chelsea scored within 7 minutes at the Emirates…

Joy erupted.

But more importantly—certainty returned.

No more ”lucky schedule” talk.

No more ”top by default” narratives.

This was real.

They’d already beaten City.

Some bitter fans had claimed it was just because City were still adjusting to Guardiola’s system.

”Well, if Chelsea played City again now, they wouldn’t win!”

But now, against Arsenal—the clear-cut second place team—Chelsea still struck first.

What excuse was left?

Chelsea’s transformation wasn’t just real.

It was ahead of schedule.

That confidence—so long missing from Stamford Bridge—was surging back.

It was like Mourinho’s first era all over again.

A time when Chelsea didn’t fear anyone in the league.

A time when their fans stood tall no matter the opponent.

Now, Blues fans believed:

That feeling was coming back—all of it.

While joy spread through the Chelsea faithful, Arsenal supporters felt nothing but frustration and dread.

So did Wenger.

”We need to push harder,” he snapped. ”No matter what, we must equalize before halftime!

We can’t play into Mourinho’s hands. We can’t let him slow the tempo!”

In his frantic conversation with his assistants, Wenger’s voice rose.

Last year’s Champions League tie against Mourinho’s Real Madrid still haunted him.

He’d had enough of being outfoxed by José.

Enough of being dragged around by Mourinho’s tempo.

If Mourinho wanted to sit back and counter, fine—

Wenger would deny him the chance.

So Arsenal adjusted.

Their players shook off the early goal and regrouped.

Conceding that early stung, yes, but Wenger’s swift reaction helped.

Whatever the outcome, at least Arsenal weren’t mentally unraveling on the pitch.

Their tactical minds had realigned.

Now, it was just a matter of who would blink next.

Waiting for Chelsea to finish their celebrations, Cavani stood at the center circle with his hands on his hips, Ramsey at his side, both eyes fixed on Chelsea’s half.

They had to attack. They needed to break through Chelsea’s fortress sooner rather than later.

For Cavani, it was a massive challenge—but it was also one that thrilled him.

This was the stage where legends were made.

He wanted to shine.

He wanted to become Arsenal’s hero by scoring the equalizer.

But…

Wait!

Wasn’t Chelsea supposed to drop deep and defend now?

After the restart, as he watched Chelsea players surging forward, rather than pulling back, Cavani’s brain momentarily short-circuited.

Meanwhile, Arteta, who had just gotten the ball, saw Li Ang charging straight at him and had no choice but to play the ball wide and retreat into space.

Chelsea’s high press was aggressive. Ruthless.

Li Ang and Zlatan rushed Arsenal’s midfield organizers.

Hazard and De Bruyne tucked in and smothered the central lanes.

Cazorla dropped back immediately to help transition the ball.

But the moment he turned after receiving it, Azpilicueta was already on him.

Startled, Cazorla could only send the ball backward again.

Then he turned—only to realize Azpilicueta had followed him across the halfway line.

One-on-one.

A fullback pressing that high.

And not just any fullback—a Spain international.

Cazorla knew exactly what Azpi was capable of, and a sense of dread crept in.

This wasn’t what he expected.

Chelsea’s press was suffocating.

On the other flank, Walcott was likely being shadowed by Ashley Cole.

With the middle squeezed and the wings shut down, how was Arsenal supposed to break through?

The Gunners’ midfielders still held onto possession fairly well.

But they were only passing sideways or backward.

Nothing going forward.

Their technique allowed them to resist the pressure—for now.

But how long could they hold on before Chelsea forced a mistake?

”That bastard tricked me again!”

Wenger stood on the touchline, frustration boiling in his chest.

He had prepared his team based on Mourinho’s past tendencies—to sit deep and counter.

But now?

Mourinho had thrown out the script and was pressing high up the pitch!

Wenger wanted to act calm.

Wanted to believe Chelsea would burn out eventually.

Let them run, he thought. Let them waste their stamina.

But his mind betrayed him.

He saw flashes of Real Madrid.

Mourinho’s Real.

The tireless pressing machine that had crushed Europe’s elite.

Sure, this Chelsea might not have that level of stamina.

But if Mourinho had built even a glimpse of that same beast?

Wenger couldn’t take that gamble.

And once again, in the face of the unexpected, the old flaw returned: hesitation.

Arsenal’s players looked to the sideline for direction—but got none.

They could only keep circulating the ball and look for an opening.

Fortunately, Cavani’s hold-up play was better than Giroud’s.

Not as dominant in the air, but far more mobile.

He offered a solid pivot in transition, better than Podolski ever could.

Arsenal used him as a focal point to launch long-ball counters, which helped them find a few threatening avenues into Chelsea’s half.

Ashley Cole had the experience, sure, but Walcott’s pace was still a nightmare.

Once Theo got going, even Cole had to just watch him run.

But Chelsea’s rock at the back—Terry—was a different problem entirely.

Twice, Walcott swung in excellent crosses.

And twice, Terry bodied Cavani out of the way.

The Uruguayan couldn’t even get a touch, let alone a shot.

Chelsea only conceded a corner, but that was it.

When Matić beat Mertesacker to the clearance, Chelsea’s second lightning counter began.

This time, Li Ang quickly released Hazard through the middle.

But Arteta wrapped him up with a rugby tackle.

Michael Oliver wasn’t blind this time.

Whistle.

Foul.

Yellow card.

Chelsea fans cheered like they’d scored a goal.

Arteta was vital to Arsenal’s structure.

Now that he was on a booking, he wouldn’t dare put in another rough tackle.

And with just Toulalan left holding the fort?

There was no way Arsenal could stop Chelsea’s blazing transitions.

Hazard, emboldened, ramped up the pressure.

Li Ang kept feeding him more of the ball, sending wave after wave toward the aging Sagna and the now-cautious Arteta.

Arsenal’s players were rattled.

They still had energy, but no outlet.

It was like being trapped in a box—plenty of oxygen but nowhere to move.

Wenger still hadn’t made any adjustments.

And so, some of his players took matters into their own hands.

They started pressing harder. Running more.

Body-checking Chelsea’s midfielders at every turn.

Oddly enough, that started to open things up.

Especially when they noticed Oliver wasn’t reaching for his whistle anymore.

Confidence grew.

In the 22nd minute, Li Ang was driving through midfield when Ramsey shoulder-checked him from the side, forcing a turnover.

Li Ang was sure a foul would be called.

But Oliver waved play on.

Chelsea fans gasped.

Their midfield general was on the ground.

And Arsenal?

They were finally pushing back.

But Oliver simply waved off Ramsey’s foul, signaling for play to continue.

Li Ang wasn’t having it.

If that kind of shoulder charge wasn’t a foul, then fine—he’d start defending by the same standard.

And so, moments later, when Cazorla tried to cut inside, Li Ang slammed into him with a mirror-image challenge.

Oliver immediately blew his whistle and gave Li Ang a stern warning.

”Ref! That was the same exact tackle as Ramsey’s! I didn’t do anything dangerous—it was a normal shoulder-to-shoulder challenge!”

Li Ang was dumbfounded, throwing his hands up in disbelief.

Two fouls.

Same style.

Barely two minutes apart.

Two completely different calls?

Ridiculous.

But Oliver stood firm, gesturing for Li Ang to stop arguing.

Luckily, Frank Lampard knew better.

He quickly pulled Li Ang away.

”He’s compensating for the yellow he gave Arteta. Don’t give him any excuse to book you, got it? Stay calm, Li Ang!”

That brought Li Ang back to his senses.

From years of watching Premier League matches, he knew Oliver’s reputation.

His idea of ”balance” didn’t mean fair calls both ways.

It meant if he punished one team, he’d find a reason to punish the other—right or wrong.

Fifty-fifty for the sake of balance.

So Li Ang wisely shut his mouth.

No need to poke the bear.

Still, even without pushing the limits physically, Li Ang’s disciplined defensive positioning made it hell for Arsenal to break through the middle.

Eventually, Arsenal started shifting play to their flanks.

By now, Chelsea had eased off their initial wave of suffocating pressure.

Ashley Cole couldn’t press Walcott high anymore—not with that kind of pace differential.

But sitting deep?

That was Ashley’s specialty.

His experience and timing kept Theo from getting easy cut-backs or crosses into dangerous areas.

Sure, occasionally Walcott got by him with sheer speed.

But isolated breakthroughs didn’t threaten Chelsea’s back line—not with how solidly they were defending.

Arsenal’s usual method of slicing through half-spaces had been utterly shut down by Li Ang and Matić.

Every time Li Ang surged forward and then sprinted all the way back to cover?

Arsenal fans cursed under their breath.

But there was nothing they could do.

Until Li Ang ran out of gas, there was no cracking Chelsea’s midfield.

To be fair, Arsenal’s defense was holding up well too.

After that early goal, they hadn’t allowed Chelsea many looks inside the box.

Toulalan and Arteta were doing their jobs, shielding the edge of the area.

And Mertesacker was giving Zlatan a frustrating afternoon.

When it came to marking tall target men, nobody in the Premier League did it better than Big Per.

Arsenal’s defensive line hadn’t made a mistake all half.

Even the goal?

Hard to pin that on the defenders.

That was a midfield lapse, plain and simple.

Still, Chelsea’s attacking players had tested Arsenal’s back line a few times—no luck.

With a 1–0 lead, Chelsea saw no reason to push any harder.

At the half-hour mark, Mourinho gave the signal:

Time to sit back and counter.

Chelsea’s players got the message and quickly pulled back behind the halfway line.

Now it was Arsenal’s turn to push forward and attack.

But as they stared at Chelsea’s dense defensive wall, they hesitated.

Was this a trap?

It felt like one.

But the game had to go on.

Wenger gave the signal: push harder.

Arsenal’s forwards grit their teeth and charged.

Meanwhile, Li Ang—still mindful of Oliver’s earlier warning—toned down his tackling.

But just as he was playing it safe, Ashley Cole got hit with a yellow.

Walcott had tried to burst past him.

Ashley reached out with a soft tug on his arm—nothing dangerous.

You could card it… or not.

Oliver did.

Typical.

It was the ”make-up card” Chelsea had been expecting.

No complaints from the players—just a few shrugs and sighs.

Mourinho, though?

He was livid.

”Come on!”

He stormed over to the fourth official, gesturing wildly.

Can’t blame him—he hadn’t been in the Premier League for years.

He forgot how Oliver worked.

The fourth official calmly advised him to cool it.

But Mourinho’s assistant Holland—ever the bodyguard—dragged him back to the bench just in time.

”I already took a red for you once,” Holland muttered, half-joking. ”Don’t make me do it again.”

Mourinho sat down, grumbling.

”Why does the FA always pick these clowns to officiate big games? He’s worse than Atkinson…”

Holland nodded seriously.

”You’re right, boss. 100% right.

But we still gotta finish this match, so let’s survive this one first, yeah?”

Mourinho took a breath and sat back down, eyes still narrowed at Oliver.

Fortunately, the final minutes of the first half passed without any more drama from Oliver or either team.

Chelsea went into the break with a narrow 1–0 lead.

Back in the dressing rooms, players from both sides immediately began venting about the referee.

Arsenal players were still grumbling about Arteta’s yellow, saying it was far too harsh.

They felt Oliver had shown no signs of ”home bias” and was just trying to make up for that decision with harsh calls against Chelsea.

On the other side, Chelsea players were fed up with Oliver’s obsession with ”balancing” decisions.

Even Li Ang—usually calm—joined in the complaints.

He rarely had a go at the ref, but today even he couldn’t help it.

Still, after a few moments of letting off steam, the mood in the Chelsea dressing room turned lighter.

Mourinho’s first-half tactics had completely outwitted Arsenal, and the early lead had given the players real confidence.

José, in a great mood, let his players rest a bit.

Only in the final five minutes before they returned to the pitch did he go over a few tactical points and warn them about Arsenal’s potential second-half adjustments.

As for what Chelsea would do next?

That had already been rehearsed in training.

The brutal three-day tactical boot camp wasn’t for nothing.

Now that they had the advantage, it was just about sticking to the plan.

And if anything unexpected happened?

Well, every Chelsea player trusted their manager to make the right call in real-time.

Buoyed by that trust, the team let out a collective roar as they ran back down the tunnel and onto the pitch.

No changes for Chelsea to start the second half.

But Arsenal?

They switched from a 4-2-3-1 to a classic 4-4-2.

Ramsey was off.

On came the towering Olivier Giroud.

”Wow. The professor’s pulling the trigger early tonight,” Li Ang said, watching Giroud exchanging words with Cavani near the halfway line.

Sure enough, Arsenal stepped up their attacking intent.

It wasn’t just Arteta pushing up—Toulalan advanced too, right to the halfway line.

With two big forwards up top, Arsenal suddenly looked much more dangerous.

Cavani no longer had to shoulder the whole burden alone.

Giroud’s aerial strength and hold-up play took the pressure off.

With both strikers capable of bringing others into play, Arsenal’s offense began to flow.

More options, more passing lanes.

But at what cost?

Arsenal’s backline was now under real pressure.

Arteta and Toulalan were gone, pressing upfield to help the attack.

That left Koscielny as the first line of defense.

One mistake, and Per Mertesacker would be the last man standing in the middle.

He was excellent in straight duels—but if Chelsea got wide and crossed?

He was toast.

Gibbs and Sagna?

Both were acting like wingers now, camped deep in Chelsea’s half.

They’d be lucky just to get back in time, let alone make big defensive plays.

It was a classic case of wanting to have your cake and eat it too.

You want the extra men forward, the attacking numbers, the pressure—but still expect to defend well?

Unless your midfield was Alonso, Li Ang, and a prime Essien or Vieira…

Yeah, not happening.

Wenger knew this.

But he was tired of letting Mourinho dictate the match.

If they let Chelsea drop deep again, they’d only face a bigger wall, a deeper block, and an even stronger counterattack.

So Wenger rolled the dice.

Push now.

Open them up before they settle.

He was encouraged by the early signs—Cavani and Giroud’s link-up looked promising.

Mourinho, after a moment’s thought, decided to meet fire with fire.

If Wenger was going to gamble?

Then Mourinho would gamble too.

No parking the bus.

Chelsea would look to exploit the gaps behind Arsenal’s midfield and launch wave after wave of counterattacks.

Li Ang lit up at the prospect.

Alongside Matic and Lampard, he now formed a triple pivot—a midfield wall that shut down the center completely.

Arsenal were forced wide.

Walcott continued to probe down the flank, forcing Ashley Cole into desperate sprints.

With a yellow already hanging over him, Cole was clearly a weak point.

Li Ang noticed and motioned for Matic to shift over and help.

Chelsea’s counters slowed.

They needed to protect the left.

But in the 60th minute, Mourinho made the change.

Ashley Cole off.

Bertrand on.

Fresh legs, strong build, enough pace to handle Walcott.

Sure enough, the tide shifted.

Walcott lost his edge.

Bertrand’s tight marking smothered him.

As Arsenal’s attack stalled, Chelsea prepared to strike.

Li Ang had spent the last 10 minutes studying Arsenal’s positioning.

He knew where the space was.

He knew who wasn’t tracking back.

He knew exactly what to do.

When David Luiz made a rare successful interception and fed him the ball…

Li Ang didn’t waste a second.

One touch.

A flat, fast, slicing diagonal ball across the pitch.

Not to Hazard this time—

But to De Bruyne, already sprinting up the right flank.

Compared to Sagna, Gibbs had been much more active in attack, pressing much further forward on Arsenal’s left.

Li Ang was sure De Bruyne had spotted that gap.

This kind of counterattacking opportunity—Hazard might not see it, Ibrahimović might not react fast enough—but De Bruyne?

He and Li Ang always seemed to share a wavelength.

Sure enough, the moment Li Ang launched his zipping diagonal pass, De Bruyne was already on the move, leaving Gibbs and Toulalan in his wake.

It was a low, fast ball—not too fast to control, but zippy enough to stop Koscielny from intercepting it.

It even took a vertical bounce off the turf instead of skidding forward—perfect for De Bruyne to run onto and control.

Had it kept rolling, Koscielny might’ve reached it first and cleared it.

But Li Ang hadn’t given him the chance.

De Bruyne latched onto the ball, cut down the wing, and seeing Hazard and Ibrahimović charging into the box, he whipped in a wicked, low, curling cross.

The ball skipped past the near post, sliding just beyond Koscielny and Ibrahimović.

At the far post, Hazard had ghosted in behind Mertesacker.

He barely needed to swing through the ball—just met it with the inside of his boot and redirected it at goal.

Szczęsny had read the shot, dropping quickly to his right.

This time, no mistakes.

Hazard’s effort lacked pace, and Szczęsny managed to push it away.

But the ball didn’t go far.

As it bounced out to the edge of the box, he spotted the onrushing form of Lampard and felt a spike of panic.

Fortunately, Toulalan was back in time to close him down.

Lampard adjusted—no shot, just a smart left-footed pass wide into space.

And arriving late on the right side of the penalty arc, exactly where he wanted to be, was Li Ang.

Touch. Set. Strike.

It was almost a carbon copy of his earlier goal.

Koscielny lunged in this time, desperate to block.

But Li Ang feinted the shot, cut the ball onto his left foot and rounded the sliding defender.

The ball rolled perfectly into his path—center of the D, just a few yards outside the box.

He struck it sweetly with his weaker left.

The shot rocketed toward goal.

Szczęsny, back on his feet, launched himself again—this time diving left, the opposite direction from last time.

But Li Ang had tricked him again.

The shot wasn’t aimed for the corners—it went straight down the middle, powered and true.

If Szczęsny had stayed put, he might have caught it.

Instead, he was helpless as the ball clattered against the underside of the bar and dropped just over the line.

GOAL!

Li Ang again! A brilliant brace at the Emirates!

The Arsenal players slumped.

The clock read 73 minutes.

Time was running out.

Two goals down to Chelsea was practically a death sentence.

Wenger threw on Podolski and Wilshere.

Out went Arteta and Walcott.

Time for an all-or-nothing push.

But Mourinho moved quickly too.

Off came Hazard and Lampard.

In came Essien and Kalas.

Chelsea switched to their familiar late-game 5-4-1 fortress.

Li Ang’s absurd stamina made him an anchor in midfield.

He and Matic gobbled up every pass, won every duel.

Arsenal got desperate.

They swung in cross after cross.

Giroud, Mertesacker, and even Cavani tried to get their heads on everything.

But Chelsea’s aerial dominance was too much.

They cleared every ball.

The clock ticked on.

Frustration boiled over.

Li Ang wasn’t above going to ground when he needed to—drawing fouls, wasting time.

Arsenal fans fumed.

But it was all within the rules.

Chelsea just shut it down.

Arsenal had no answer.

When Oliver finally blew the full-time whistle, Li Ang and his teammates collapsed to the turf.

Exhausted—but jubilant.

Mourinho celebrated briefly, then strode over to shake Wenger’s hand.

He accepted the Professor’s polite congratulations with a smile.

Then, hands in pockets, he sauntered over to greet his victorious players.

Tonight, they weren’t just Kings of London.

They looked every bit the reigning overlords of the Premier League.

Thank you for the support, friends. If you want to read more chapters in advance, go to my Patreon.

Read 40 Chapters In Advance: /johanssen10

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