Kai returned once more to Mr. Wilson's barber shop.
The bell above the door chimed lightly as Kai stepped inside.
Mr. Wilson, who was tidying up his counter, froze for a moment before his face lit up in surprise.
"Well, would you look at this!" the old man chuckled heartily, spreading his arms wide. "If it isn't our squad leader himself! Welcome back, lad!"
He walked over with unexpected energy, pulling Kai into a warm, almost fatherly hug. Compared to their last meeting, the barber's enthusiasm seemed boundless, as if he were welcoming a family member rather than a customer.
"A haircut, then?" Mr. Wilson asked, tapping the chair.
Kai grinned, removing his cap and settling down. "Yeah. But steady hands this time, alright?"
The barber gave a mock-offended huff, patting his pocket. "Don't you worry. I've taken my medicine today!"
Kai could only stare at him blankly for a moment, then sighed.
In the quiet shop, the buzz of the clippers filled the air as Mr. Wilson worked carefully. As always, the old man had plenty to say.
"You've been playing some football, lad," Wilson mused. "Last season—ah, we came so close! Nearly champions. And this year, well, the start's been promising too."
Kai chuckled. "Didn't you once say every player who's had their hair cut here becomes an Arsenal legend? I'm holding you to that."
The barber burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking. "And I stand by it! You're wearing the number four shirt—destiny itself, my boy! Arsenal through and through!"
Kai raised an eyebrow. "And if the club sells me one day?"
Mr. Wilson froze mid-stroke, then shook the clippers menacingly. "Then I'll march right over and box the ears of the one who let you go!"
Kai eyed the old man's trembling arm nervously, silently praying his hair wouldn't pay the price for that declaration.
After regaining his composure, the barber continued with more care than before. Kai, relaxing again, asked softly, "If you had to pick one, which match do you regret the most?"
The question silenced Wilson for a moment. Finally, he let out a long sigh. "The Champions League final in 2006. Still fresh in my memory. Just twenty minutes in, Lehmann was sent off… we had to play nearly the whole match with ten men. And though we fought, we lost. That one still hurts."
Kai nodded slowly. "Closest Arsenal's ever been to the Champions League trophy."
"Exactly," Wilson replied, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. "The closest… and the only time. We all believed so strongly back then. Before kickoff, I thought destiny was finally on our side. Football can be cruel, lad. Lehmann stayed on at the club as a goalkeeping coach, you know. He wanted to put things right, though none of us ever blamed him."
Kai exhaled. "It's just one of those scars you carry. He probably hasn't forgiven himself."
"I hope one day he does," Wilson murmured.
With that, the barber dusted the loose hairs from Kai's neck, whipped the cloth away with a flourish, and gave a proud nod. "There we are. What do you think?"
Kai checked the mirror. The sides trimmed neatly, the top left a little longer. Nothing extravagant, just simple and tidy—the kind of cut that suited someone who had little time for styling. He smiled. "Not bad at all."
Reaching for his wallet, Kai pulled out some cash and offered it over, but Wilson waved his hand dismissively.
"Free of charge," he said firmly.
Kai blinked. "What? But I haven't earned the 'legend' status yet."
They both remembered the promise: if Kai ever became an Arsenal legend, Wilson would give him free haircuts for life.
The barber chuckled, wagging a finger. "Consider this an advance. Just don't you dare leave Arsenal before you've written your name into history."
Kai laughed, shaking his head. "Fair enough. But if I fall short, don't expect a refund."
"Go on, get out of here, cheeky lad!" Wilson barked, though he was smiling from ear to ear.
Kai rose, still grinning, and waved as he stepped back into the street.
Outside, the afternoon light spilled across the pavement. Sliding into his car, Kai drove toward Billy's house. Though he had moved into a place of his own, the bond between him and Billy's family had never faded.
When he parked, he reached into the boot for several gift bags—tokens of gratitude for the care and kindness they'd shown him over the past year.
"Hey! I'm back!"
Kai pushed open the door, and almost instantly, Billy and Elena were on their feet to greet him. The warmth in the room was immediate; hugs were exchanged, laughter filled the air, and it felt less like a visit and more like family coming together again.
After the greetings, Kai began handing out the gifts he had brought along.
"Billy, this one's for you," he said, passing a neatly wrapped package into his friend's hands.
Then, turning with a grin, he handed a smaller bag to Elena. "And Elena, here's something I know you've had your eye on. I wasn't sure which scent you'd like best, so… I just bought them all."
Elena's face lit up in surprise as she peeked inside.
Finally, Kai knelt to Kevin's level, pulling out a square cardboard box hidden behind his back. He gave it a playful pat and said with a mischievous smile, "Go on, guess what this is."
Kevin's eyes widened; he could just make out the letters PS through the packaging film.
Kai handed it over, chuckling. "But listen, no neglecting your homework. If you fall behind, I'll come right back here and take it off you myself."
The boy let out a cheer, clutching the brand-new PlayStation 4 as though it were treasure. He nodded furiously, clearly not listening to the warning but too overjoyed to care.
As Kai rose to his feet, Elena caught his eye. Her voice was soft but full of sincerity. "Kai, thank you. For everything."
He waved it off with a modest smile. "No, it's me who should be thanking you. I was lucky enough to meet you and Billy on my very first day in London. You both made sure I found my feet here. All this," he gestured to the gifts, "is just a small way of showing how grateful I am."
By noon, the four of them were gathered around the table, sharing a meal that Elena had lovingly prepared. It was the sort of lunch that stretched out over conversation, good food, and the occasional burst of Kevin's excitement from upstairs as he explored his new console.
Later, with the dishes cleared and Kevin already lost in the world of his PS4, Kai, Billy, and Elena settled back into their chairs for a quieter chat.
Billy leaned forward, brow furrowed. "We've got Swansea next, don't we?" His voice carried the weight of worry.
Kai nodded, thoughtful. Swansea, after all, were no ordinary opponents. They had come into the Premier League as fresh-faced underdogs in 2011 but had quickly earned respect by steadily improving each season. They weren't flashy, but they were stubborn, disciplined, and hard to break down.
"They're at home too," Kai said, his tone measured. "And when they set up in front of their fans, they're very conservative. They don't give you space, they foul when they need to, and they're comfortable dragging the game into a stalemate."
Elena frowned. "And Arsenal don't always like that sort of game, do they?"
Kai gave a wry smile. "Not many sides do. It's the kind of match that tests your patience more than your skill."
...
Arsenal made the trip to the Liberty Stadium in Wales for their fifth league match of the campaign. The Gunners knew what they were walking into—an organised Swansea side set up in a 4-1-4-1 formation.
Arsenal were tidy enough defensively themselves, with Kai marshalling things in the middle, but breaking Swansea down? That's another story altogether. It became one of those afternoons where the clock ticks on, and you just can't find that one opening. For all their possession, Arsenal couldn't find the back of the net.
After ninety attritional minutes, the scoreboard told the story: 0–0. Two sides locked in a battle of patience and discipline, and neither willing to give an inch.
...
Arsène Wenger afterwards knew something was missing. Arsenal needed another dimension, another weapon in their armoury.
That's why training took on a slightly different flavour in the days that followed. Wenger needed Kai's long-range shots to start paying off. He wanted a bit of heavy artillery—someone to step up from outside the box and change a game with one strike.
The coaching staff, including Pat Rice, recognised that Kai already had the power and the technique. What he lacked was simply that first goal, that spark of confidence. They all knew: one successful strike could unlock something much bigger.
...
Just three days later, on October 2nd, Arsenal welcomed Napoli to the Emirates in the Champions League. It was a stern test on paper, with names like Higuaín, Pandev, Zapata, and Mertens leading the line for the Italian side.
A few years earlier, Martin, looking at those names and thought—wow, what a strike force. But times had changed a bit. Pandev wasn't quite the same player, Zapata hadn't fully broken through, and Mertens was still largely finding his feet as a winger.
Even so, they had plenty of firepower, and Arsenal needed to be sharp defensively. And sharp they were. Kai, in particular, stuck tight to Pandev. Every time he tried to get a touch, there was pressure. Every aerial challenge—Kai was there. By the end, Pandev had two shots in the entire game, neither troubling the goalkeeper.
Napoli's rhythm never quite clicked; their frontline was stifled and frustrated. And in the end, Arsenal found the one goal they needed, edging the match 1–0 and recording a second successive win in the Champions League group stage.
The Emirates crowd roared with delight; not only was it a victory, but it was a sign that this Arsenal side was learning to grind out results in Europe, too.