Paris was drowning in World Cup fever.
Ligue 1 had wrapped up weeks earlier, but the city felt even more alive now. Flags hung from balconies, metro entrances, and café windows. Posters of the French squad—Benzema, Ribery, Griezmann, Lloris, Sagna, and Koscielny—covered bus stops and billboards. Their faces were everywhere, watching over the streets.
A young man walked beneath them, head tilted up, eyes staring at these stars.
N'Golo Kanté—barely 170 centimeters tall, soft-spoken, the kind of person who never raised his voice unless it was necessary. Few would expect someone like him to grow into the relentless midfield engine the world would eventually know.
Back then, he was simply an honest kid with big dreams and a family depending on him.
He came from a crowded apartment, one of nine siblings. Growing up, there were no real toys in the house—just a beat-up football that became his closest companion. And in the end, that football changed everything.
In the season just finished, Kanté had helped Caen earn promotion to Ligue 1. His numbers—five tackles per match—were impossible to ignore. Caen wanted him to extend his contract.
But another offer had landed on the table. One far more tempting. One far more life-changing.
Arsenal.
He didn't know what to feel. The excitement was real—Arsenal noticing him felt like validation from the football gods themselves. But fear crept in, too. Big clubs had big benches, and many young players disappeared into them, swallowed up with no way back.
Would he be good enough? Would he even get the chance to prove it?
Those thoughts circled in his mind as he made his way home, hands tucked in his pockets, head lowered in quiet worry.
His phone suddenly buzzed.
"N'Golo, an Arsenal personnel is here. He wants to meet you," said his agent, Abdelkarim Douis.
Kanté hesitated. "Do you think… I should go?"
"Of course," Douis replied without missing a beat. "A club like Arsenal can bring out the best in you."
Kanté let out a slow breath. "Alright. I'll talk to him."
"Good. Where are you? I'll drive over."
Ten minutes later, Douis pulled up, and Kanté climbed in. They didn't talk much on the way—Kanté was lost in thought, and Douis didn't want to disturb him.
Half an hour later, they reached a hotel. Kanté followed his agent inside, nerves tightening with each step. They stopped outside a room. Douis knocked.
A moment later, the door swung open to reveal a slightly chubby man with a warm smile.
He stepped aside, inviting them in.
Once they were all seated, the man introduced himself in French. "I'm Steve Rowley—Arsenal's chief scout."
He handed Kanté a business card and leaned back with a relaxed confidence. "I've seen plenty of players over the years— Robin, Fabregas. And today, I'm here to talk about you."
Both Kanté and Douais froze for a moment. For them, Rowley wasn't just a scout. He was the scout.
After a pause, Rowley turned to Douis. "Mind if I speak with him alone?"
"Of course," Douis said. "I'll stay quiet."
Rowley nodded gratefully, then looked directly at Kanté.
"So," he asked gently, "do you want to join Arsenal?"
Kanté didn't answer immediately. He sat still, hands together, eyes lowered, the weight of the question resting on him.
Rowley leaned back slightly, his smile warm and reassuring. "I understand what's worrying you. Big clubs can be intimidating. The competition is real—no doubt about that." He paused, letting his words settle. "But that kind of pressure brings out levels in players they didn't even know they had."
He studied Kanté carefully before adding, "And… someone's been watching your matches. He asked me to pass on a bit of advice."
Kanté looked up. "What kind of advice?"
"Play with more confidence," Rowley said gently.
Kanté froze for a second, as if the words had hit something he'd been keeping hidden. His eyes shifted, unsure.
Rowley continued, "He feels you play a little too quietly. Your work rate is incredible, but your presence—your confidence—lags a bit behind your ability." He let out a light chuckle. "Aren't you going to ask who said that?"
Kanté swallowed. "Who was it?"
Rowley's smile widened. "Our captain—Kai."
Kanté's eyes widened as well. "He knows who I am?"
For him, Kai wasn't just a name. He was one of those players who lived on a different tier—Champions League nights, headlines, worldwide admiration. Someone who could walk through Paris and have the whole city turn to look.
And yet… he knew N'Golo Kanté. A Ligue 2 midfielder from a newly promoted side.
Rowley said, "Not only does he know you, but he also recorded a message. Want to see it?"
Kanté nodded instantly, almost too quickly.
Rowley pulled out his phone, found the file, and passed it over. Kanté tapped play with both excitement and trembling nerves.
On screen, Kai sat in Arsenal's tactical room, the club crest filling the wall behind him.
Kai smiled as the recording began. "Hey, N'Golo. This is actually the second time I've said your name. The first was when the boss showed me one of your matches. Your tackling and interceptions caught me off-guard—in a good way. We're similar types of players, so it felt like I was watching someone who gets the game the same way I do."
The video had French subtitles for Kanté to understand.
He shifted slightly, his tone sincere. "I pushed for this video myself. Think of it as an invitation—my personal one. I want you at Arsenal. I want us to play together. I think we can build something special."
He leaned forward. "I don't know why you chose football, but on this stage… believe me, the surprises only get bigger. The opponents are stronger, the competition fierce, and the stars? They're everywhere."
Kai lifted a finger. "And with just one ball, you can change your life."
His voice softened, but his sincerity sharpened. "I won't pretend everything is easy. Arsenal is competitive. Brutally so. But I believe you can handle it."
He ended with a smile that felt almost brotherly. "No matter what choice you make, I genuinely want you here. I think we can be not only teammates, but a midfield pairing nobody wants to face. I'm waiting for you. If you want to chase glory—come join us."
The clip ended.
But Kanté didn't move. His chest tightened with a swirl of excitement and fear.
Kai's praise gave him courage he'd never felt before—yet the idea of failing such expectations terrified him.
Rowley saw it all in his expression and spoke softly. "Why not give yourself the chance? If you don't take this step, you'll never know what you could've become."
He added, "I won't promise success. Nobody can. But if you can't fully trust yourself yet… trust him. Kai's never praised you lightly."
Kanté's resolve began to shake. His hands tightened. His eyes flickered with doubt and longing, fighting inside him.
Then he whispered, "What kind of person is he… really?"
Rowley answered without hesitation. "The kind who makes people want to follow him. A natural leader, someone teammates rely on. And someone who values partnerships—on and off the pitch."
Finally, Rowley extended a hand. "N'Golo… will you join us?"
Kanté looked between Rowley and Douais. His agent gave him a small, encouraging nod.
Kanté lowered his gaze, thinking silently. Then he took a slow breath, lifted his head, and said, "I want to try. Whatever happens… I'll believe in myself. And in Kai."
Rowley's laughter boomed through the room. "That's what I wanted to hear! Kai's going to be thrilled."
A smile of relief spread across Kanté's face. "Please tell him… I'll work to become a midfield partner he can rely on."
Rowley nodded firmly. "I'll pass it on."
He stood up and added, almost theatrically, "We'll contact Caen. Leave the transfer to us. Trust me—Caen won't say no."
Then, with a proud grin, he declared, "We have money."
...
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