The 2013–2014 Premier League season had wrapped up three days earlier, and North London was still buzzing from Arsenal's triumph. After a decade without lifting the league trophy, the city had turned red again—streets packed, pubs overflowing, fans singing into the early hours.
Yesterday's parade had taken the celebrations even further. The open-top bus glided past thousands of supporters, red and white confetti swirling through the air, players leaning over the railings to wave at fans who looked ready to collapse from happiness.
Beer flowed endlessly in the pubs. Songs echoed from street to street. Grown men hugged strangers. Every few minutes, someone would start screaming, "Arsenal are champions!" and the whole bar would follow.
For Billy, it had felt like the greatest day of his life.
And that memory was still echoing in his mind as he drove, the radio host enthusiastically recounting parade highlights. Billy found himself smiling at nothing in particular. Even the presenter's ordinary voice sounded beautiful now that it carried the words, "Arsenal—Premier League champions."
He pulled up outside the Oak Tree Bar. Outside, the chalkboard from earlier celebrations that said "Shout 'Arsenal are Champions' on entry for a free beer!" had been wiped clean, but faint traces of red chalk still clung to the edges.
Billy stepped inside and called out instinctively, "Arsenal are champions!"
Meadows looked over with a grin. "Still on a high, I see."
"Can you blame me?" Billy laughed.
"I can. Elena called." Meadows pointed at him with a towel. "You're banned from alcohol. I promised her."
Billy slumped onto a stool. "Milk it is, then."
He'd definitely been overdoing it lately. And the tigress at home had reached her limit.
He slid onto a barstool, and Meadows placed a glass of milk in front of him. Billy took a sip and grimaced at the strange aftertaste. He glanced around—only a handful of customers were scattered across the room.
"Feels odd seeing this place so empty after yesterday," Billy said.
"Everyone used up their voices at the parade," Meadows replied. "I saw at least five grown men crying when the bus turned into Highbury Corner."
Billy chuckled. "You should've seen the guy next to me. When Kai lifted the trophy, he screamed so loud I thought he'd pass out."
Billy nodded slowly, then lowered his voice with a hint of excitement.
"You know… watching the parade got me thinking."
Meadows raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
"We've just won the Premier League," Billy said. "So next season… why can't we go for the Champions League too?"
Meadows blinked. "You thought of all that during the parade?"
"What else was I supposed to think about while stuck behind a guy waving a flag the size of a tent?" Billy shrugged. "But seriously, our run in Europe wasn't bad this year. Semi-finals. With a bit more luck, a stronger defence… maybe we can finally do it."
The Champions League was the club's longest-running obsession. Arsenal had the history, the prestige, the identity—but still no Champions League trophy. Rivals mocked them as a giant without a crown. Even Chelsea, newcomers in comparison, had captured Europe's biggest prize.
It was the one piece missing from Arsenal's story.
"This season we made the semi-final," Billy continued. "Next season we can make the final—or win it. Right?"
Meadows sighed and paused wiping down a glass. "You Arsenal fans never change."
"As if you aren't one, so a yes or a no?" Billy pressed.
"A slim one," Meadows admitted. "Our defence isn't solid enough, especially after Kai was moved forward and is responsible for creating. No one back there can command the line like he does. And our attack—good, but not frightening. Sure, we're stable, but we lack that extra spark the big European sides have."
Billy groaned. "So much needs fixing. Why did Vermaelen have to leave now, of all times?"
"He had to," Meadows replied quietly.
Billy knew, but he wanted to argue for arguing's sake.
Every Arsenal fan knew the truth. Vermaelen's departure was inevitable. And they all understood why.
As much as they respected him, his exit was part of the club's transition. With him gone, Kai would take the armband. It wasn't just expected—it felt like the natural step for the new Arsenal.
"His farewell ceremony is tonight, yeah?" Billy asked.
Meadows nodded. "We should go. Say goodbye properly."
"Mm." Billy agreed.
...
At Kai's villa, he had already finished packing his luggage. Tomorrow he'd fly back to join the national team for World Cup preparations. But before leaving England, he had one more duty.
Vermaelen deserved a proper farewell.
After a quick shower, Kai dressed in a sharp black suit and headed out. His drive to the Emirates was quiet, the kind of quiet that let thoughts settle.
Outside the stadium, crowds had already gathered—far more than anyone expected.
Vermaelen wasn't an Arsenal legend in the traditional sense. But the fans felt a tug of guilt, a sense of unfinished gratitude. They wanted to send him off in a way that showed they cared.
When Kai arrived, the plaza was already packed.
And more people were still coming.
Vermaelen's family and friends were already seated, along with several club executives and several Arsenal legends. The atmosphere in the hall was warm rather than somber, the kind of gathering where everyone understood the significance without needing to dwell on it.
Kai made his way down the aisle, greeting familiar faces one by one before finally settling in the front row beside Henry and Vieira.
Nearly a hundred guests had turned up—an impressive turnout for any farewell, let alone one for a captain who was leaving earlier than most had once hoped. Even chairman Usmanov was present, taking on the role of host for the evening.
A few moments later, Vermaelen walked in with his wife and child. The room rose to its feet instantly, applause sweeping through like a wave. Vermaelen smiled broadly, waving as he passed each table. There wasn't a hint of sadness in him—only gratitude.
When he reached Kai, he pulled him into a firm hug.
"Don't overthink this," Vermaelen murmured. "It's the right decision. Send me off with a smile."
Kai drew a slow breath and nodded. "Goodbye, Captain."
Vermaelen patted his shoulder once, then stepped onto the small stage. Usmanov passed him the microphone.
"I'm honoured to stand here as Arsenal's captain for one last time," Vermaelen began. "But this isn't meant to be a gloomy night. If anything, I hope everyone smiles. That would mean more to me than anything else."
Applause rose again.
"In June of 2009, I arrived at this club. Somehow, five years have passed. In that time, we've been through highs and lows, bright moments and tough ones. I've had performances I'm proud of and injuries I'd rather forget. But all of it—every bit—is part of my Arsenal story. And it's been a beautiful one. I'm grateful I came here, and I'm grateful I had the chance to be captain."
He paused, then added with disarming honesty:
"Of course… I'm not a perfect captain. I didn't bring the trophies I wanted to bring. And for that, I'm sorry."
The room remained silent, listening closely.
"But I do leave with peace of mind," Vermaelen continued. "Because Arsenal has found the right person to take the armband."
He turned his head slightly. Others followed his gaze until their eyes locked onto Kai.
Vermaelen smiled. "Last season, when a certain young man burst into the dressing room waving a bat and threatening to beat the lot of us, I realised my captaincy might be in danger. I tried to calm him down… didn't go particularly well. Chuckle."
Laughter filled the hall. Kai rubbed his nose awkwardly while Henry nudged him.
"We once had a captain who enjoyed a scrap," Vermaelen added, glancing sideways at Vieira.
Vieira held up both hands in surrender, with Thierry Henry hiding his laugh, which earned Vieira another round of laughter.
"And now we have someone even louder," Vermaelen continued, shaking his head theatrically. "I'm convinced he has a built-in megaphone. Stand next to him for five minutes and you'll be begging for earplugs."
More laughter rolled across the room. Kai could only smile helplessly.
Vermaelen eased the mood with a gentle wave. "All jokes aside—Kai is exceptional. As a player, as a leader, and as someone who carries the kind of fire that lifts the people around him. When you follow him, you don't just move—you believe."
He paused, pretending to look stern.
"And with anyone else, I wouldn't step aside. Not a chance. No one replaces me."
He aimed a mock glare at Arsène Wenger, who raised his hands dramatically as if surrendering, sending the room into laughter again.
"But if the one replacing me is Kai… then I have nothing to protest."
Vermaelen motioned with his hand. "Come up here, Kai."
Kai blinked, startled. "Me?"
"No me," Vermaelen said sarcastically. "Come on, boy, we don't have all day."
Laughter rang through the place again.
Kai stood, still unsure, and stepped up beside him. Vermaelen reached into his pocket, lifted Kai's arm, and slid something onto it with deliberate care.
Kai glanced down.
The Arsenal captain's armband.
Vermaelen raised Kai's wrist high for everyone to see.
"This isn't just a farewell," he said, voice ringing through the hall. "It's a welcome. Kai will take over the armband and lead Arsenal into a new chapter—towards glory, towards history, towards everything this club deserves."
He lowered his hand, looked out across the crowd one last time, and smiled.
"Goodbye, Arsenal. Goodbye, everyone dear to me."
The applause that followed felt like thunder.
...
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