They lost, the Gooners lost in the Europa League just like that. After the Europa League match ended, in the corridor of London Heathrow Airport, the cold white lights illuminated Wenger's tired face.
Arsenal had just been eliminated from the Europa League, and another hope for the Gunners was dashed. The Arsenal players dragged their suitcases, their steps heavy.
Wenger walked in the middle of the team, his thin face showing no expression under the lights, his gaze behind his glasses calmly looking into the void ahead. The chill outside the exit hadn't even touched their skin before it was pushed back by a wave of sound. Reporters and fans, who had been waiting, crowded there, their cameras and fervent emotions squeezing the small exit space. All sorts of questions and shouts came crashing down:
"Is this what you want, Wenger?" a hoarse voice, with unconcealed sarcasm.
A sharp retort immediately rang out from another direction: "'Professor'? Look at this crap you've brought! Can't even play in the Europa League anymore!"
Someone in the crowd yelled loudly: "Refund! Give us back our season tickets, and, Wenger out!!!"
"Professor, those people..." Assistant coach Pat frowned deeply, quickly advising Wenger not to pay attention to those words.
Wenger seemed to hear nothing. He turned his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over the excited faces, without anger, without explanation. He simply straightened his back slightly, his face, already etched with the marks of time, remained motionless. He maintained his pace, leading the entire team, steadily walking towards the team bus parked in the distance. In the distance, a huge white banner was glaringly unfurled above the crowd, with large letters spray-painted in striking scarlet:
"KICK OUT Wenger! ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!" The red appeared particularly menacing under the pale light.
Some fans' curses were incredibly sharp: "STOP STEALING MY CLUB!!"
Wenger's gaze briefly lingered on the banner for a moment. Did Wenger truly not care about these things? Wrong, he actually cared very much; he cared more about everything related to Arsenal than anyone else at Arsenal. But reason told him that now was not the time to care about fan opinion; he had more important things to do.
...
Upon returning to Colney Training Centre, the first thing Wenger did was give a speech. In the tactical meeting room, Wenger clapped his hands, his voice not loud, but it made all eyes turn to him.
"Alright, gentlemen, it's over," Wenger's voice carried an extreme calmness after exhaustion,
"Our Europa League journey has finally ended; now we can focus on the League." His gaze was steady and strong, sweeping over everyone's eyes, "Top four in the League, that is the key to the future. There are no more cup competitions to distract us. From this second on, every ounce of energy, every drop of sweat, will be poured into this. Remember, only by giving our all will there be a response in the future. Starting from tomorrow's training session, completely forget about this damned Europa League."
In the days that followed, the lights of the Colney training ground were always lit before dawn. All training programs were precisely centered around the Premier League's confrontations and rotations. Arsenal's resolve was set, with no further distractions. Next, the Gunners' two League opponents were Nottingham Forest and Manchester City, respectively.
When facing Forest at Emirates Stadium, Arsenal's spirit was completely different. Every red figure sprinted with a desperate ferocity, every interception roared with a willingness to pay any price. Forest tried to resist, but they felt like they were hitting a continuously pressing high wall. The Gunners' desperate momentum caused their less experienced opponents to lose their composure early on.
This match became Aubameyang's highlight moment. For the first goal, Arsenal's patient penetration and stretching of the opponent's defense led to a clean and precise cut-back pass delivered accurately to Aubameyang's feet. He calmly adjusted one step and easily slotted the ball into the net. The second goal was like lightning; as soon as the space torn open by Arsenal's speedy winger was spotted, Aubameyang had already ghosted into position. The ball arrived with him, and he calmly sent it into the net.
2-0, a victory controlled from start to finish.
On the League table, Arsenal's name jumped up one spot. The next match, a bigger test, soon arrived: Manchester, Etihad Stadium. This was an away game with immense pressure from the opening whistle. Arsenal's players ingrained the spirit of "fighting until everything is gone" into every action, with frantic counter-pressing compressing every inch of space, and physical confrontations so tough they almost crossed the foul line.
Facing the home team's delicate pass-and-control, the Gunners responded with tireless running and fierce interceptions. Two or three players immediately counter-pressing after every lost ball almost became muscle memory. The transitions between offense and defense were breathtakingly fast, and the numbers on the scoreboard alternated. The Gunners' tenacious defense had also managed to maintain a difficult draw.
In the final few minutes, the situation became even more chaotic.
The Arsenal players' eyes saw only the bouncing ball; all intentions transformed into the simplest, most direct goal: Stop this damned ball from entering their own net. Headers, blocks, tackles... Every movement tapped into the deepest energy of every muscle fiber, squeezing out the last bit of strength. The ball was desperately cleared out of the Arsenal penalty area, landing near the center circle. Manchester City center-back Stones strode forward, attempting to firmly control the landing spot to stabilize the rhythm for his team's final wave of attack. He accurately judged the landing, his left foot firmly planted, his right leg raised high, just about to exert force to send the ball deep into Arsenal's half.
Just at the moment his leg muscles were maximally tensed and exerting force. A terrifying sensation exploded along the back of Stones' thigh muscle! Excruciating pain like cold iron tongs suddenly tightened and tore! There was no external impact; the muscle fibers reached their limit under their own absolute power burst. In that instant, the balance between support and exertion broke, and immense pain surged to his throat. He couldn't even let out a complete cry of pain.
"Hiss..."
The audience seemed to clearly hear the faint sound of the ball rolling away, and then everything slowed down. Stones' expression, in a flash, went from focused to blank. His right leg hung suspended, his raised posture eerily frozen, his body's coordination instantly collapsing. His supporting left foot seemed unable to bear the weight of his body any longer, suddenly giving way, and his sturdy body uncontrollably toppled to the left. He fell to the ground, violently curling up, his hands clutching the back of his right thigh, his face buried in the wet grass, his body painfully arched.
The Manchester City coaching area on the sidelines instantly froze. Guardiola, just a second ago, was frowning and leaning forward, intently watching the chaotic situation inside the penalty area. The next second, he instinctively lunged forward two steps, his feet planted firmly at the edge of the sideline, his eyes fixed on his beloved player, curled up in a ball outside the penalty area. Guardiola saw the team doctor's back as he sprinted onto the field, and saw Stones' shoulders convulsing violently from the intense pain, buried in the grass.
A cold chill instantly shot from Guardiola's feet to his bald head. He instinctively raised his hand, covering his forehead and eyes, a gesture almost like a silent prayer. The final score of the match was 2-2. For Guardiola, whose face was ashen at this moment, he no longer cared about this result. He cared more about his beloved player, who was being carried off the field on a stretcher.
This crucial match ended in a draw, and Arsenal tightly held onto fifth place. Now, the Gunners were only four points behind fourth-placed Tottenham. The path to the top four was clearer and brighter than ever in Wenger's eyes. But for Pep Guardiola, a huge problem had emerged.
In the Manchester City medical room, the door creaked open, and a stronger scent of disinfectant mixed with muscle balm wafted out. Guardiola walked in, his steps not as light as usual, appearing somewhat heavy. Stones lay on the treatment bed, his right leg wrapped in a white bandage for emergency compression and stabilization, from the back of his thigh down to near his knee, making it particularly noticeable. His face was ashen, as if worn down by illness, and beneath his tightly furrowed brow, his eyes were unfocused, staring at a corner of the ceiling, yet also seeming to see nothing at all.
Seeing his mentor enter, Stones struggled to prop himself up slightly, a complex expression appearing on his face. His expression mingled the suppressed pain left by the injury, the guilt of being unable to complete his task, and a sense of bewilderment.
"Don't move, John, absolutely don't move." Guardiola immediately spoke to stop him, his voice soft and slow.
He quickly walked to the bedside, pulled up a chair, and sat down, his gaze falling on the bandages, his brows furrowing even more deeply, "John's condition... how is it?"
Manchester City's chief team doctor, Chief physician Jim, a gray-haired man in a blue medical coat, had a very solemn expression: "The preliminary scan results just came in, Pep."
He held up a black and white image film to the light, pointing to a specific area, "Here, John's hamstring muscles, confirmed to be a severe muscle tear."
He put down the film, his tone flat and cold, "It's quite severe; the torn area of John's injury is very large, and the muscle fibers are quite clearly separated."
He paused, then continued: "This means he needs immediate, complete rest and recuperation. The next few weeks are the most fragile and dangerous period for muscle fibers, most prone to re-tearing. Rehabilitation training needs to be introduced with extreme caution, little by little, rebuilding muscle connections, restoring strength, and then restoring functional movements. Conservatively estimated, the most optimistic full recovery time... will still be five weeks."
Five weeks! This duration weighed heavily on Guardiola's heart. In a week, they would face Hoffenheim again, and after that, strong opponents in the Champions League... The time window when he needed his most reliable defender was abruptly cut short by this diagnosis. Guardiola was silent for a few seconds, his Adam's apple bobbing, before he looked up at Stones.
"John..." Guardiola began, his voice hoarse.
"Boss," Stones interjected, his voice weak from the injury, but more so with urgency,
"Next match... I can... I can play..." His fingers unconsciously dug into the bedsheet. Guardiola didn't wait for him to finish, directly reaching out and gently pressing Stones' left shoulder.
He stared into Stones' eyes, full of longing and unwillingness, and said each word with extreme clarity: "Listen, John, forget the match. Your only job now is to get this leg well, and come back completely sound."
Guardiola smiled at Stones, though it wasn't a pleasant smile. He continued to tell Stones, "John, don't worry, I and Ederson, and Vincent, Kevin, Aguero, and the others... we will handle the upcoming matches. That's my job, trust me, okay?"
His hand on Stones' shoulder tightened slightly, as if conveying a resolute message,
"Please trust us, okay, John?" he asked again.
In the eye contact with his mentor, the light in Stones' eyes gradually dimmed, as if finally completely crushed by the heavy reality.
His throat convulsed several times, and he uttered a word with a voice almost inaudible, with difficulty: "...Okay."
Manchester City's starting defender's proud head finally slumped down, resting against the headboard. Silence once again fell in the medical room. Guardiola stood up, said nothing more, only rose and looked deeply once more at his beloved player, wrapped in bandages and despair, then silently turned away. Jim followed behind Guardiola, gently closing the medical room door, leaving the treatment space to Stones. The two walked and talked in the corridor.
"Pep," Jim's voice was very low, "You need to understand, the risk of recurrence during the recovery process of a moderate tear is extremely high. John's personality... you need to suppress any thoughts he has of returning too early, otherwise..."
Jim didn't finish, but the meaning of his words was understood by those who knew.
"I know." Guardiola's voice was deep, his throat tight.
Stones' absence was far more than just losing a defensive wall. He was the "axis" of Manchester City's build-up play from the back. Stones had the ability to find passing lanes through the opponent's pressing gaps and accurately distribute the ball to the forwards' feet.
In Manchester City's attacking rhythm, whether this link of his was smooth often determined the fluidity of passing and the speed of progression. Now, this crucial axis was broken. Guardiola had to rethink his tactics. Who else could calmly and accurately deliver the ball out of heavy pressure? Who would fill the huge black hole left by the sudden disappearance of this precise striking ability?
Against Hoffenheim, this was a crucial test before the Champions League knockout stage. It was originally meant to further integrate and test the stability of the defensive combination, but now they had to face the challenge with a makeshift defense?
Guardiola took a deep breath, finally speaking again. "Jim, I have two tasks for you now. First, watch John closely. You must ensure he follows the safest, lowest-risk rehabilitation plan. Absolutely no unauthorized movement, not even a little. And then—"
He turned around, the sharp light in his eyes refocusing, "Second, give me a detailed report on every foreseeable milestone for John during his entire injury period, from the current resting phase to his final recovery of fitness, strength, explosiveness, and on-field adaptability. Be precise down to the daily possible recovery activities and the possible percentages achieved."
Guardiola's voice was decisive, "I need to know, in the coming weeks and even months, even if the situation is worse, at what time window I might be able to reactivate him as a card."
"Understood, Pep." Jim nodded immediately, his expression equally grim. After talking, they parted ways, each burdened with their heavy tasks, heading into what promised to be an exceptionally long night due to an unexpected event.
...
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