A month had quietly passed since the World Cup.
The quadrennial carnival had ignited fans' passion, and now, with the major leagues about to kick off, excitement surged again.
Especially among Arsenal fans.
After last season's Premier League triumph, the Gunners' supporters were riding a wave of confidence. Arsenal's rise over the past three years has been meteoric—going from a low point to reclaiming the Premier League in just three seasons.
Even after a frustrating World Cup for the country, Arsenal fans weren't about to stay frustrated—they were hungry for the new season. Every day, debates raged about the squad, particularly the new signings: Navas, Sanchez, Di Maria, Campbell, and the rest. Pre-season friendlies had been promising—Arsenal had won all three matches, and convincingly so against Nuremberg and Sevilla.
Billy, as usual, couldn't contain his curiosity. He turned to Meadows with bright eyes.
"So… what do you think about Di Maria linking up with Le Kai this season?"
Meadows raised an eyebrow, feigning neutrality. "You tell me."
Billy slapped his thigh enthusiastically. "I've done my homework! First, Di Maria."
For the next ten minutes, Billy dissected Di Maria's style—his strengths, his weaknesses, his tendencies on the wing. Then, with barely a pause, he switched gears. "And now… Le Kai."
Another half hour passed.
"Finally… their connection."
Meadows waved a hand, grinning wryly. "Wait—aren't you thirsty?"
Billy's mouth felt like sandpaper. "Cold beer. Right now."
Meadows produced a bottle with a mock sigh. "Alright, alright. You don't need to lecture me anymore. Third time you've gone over this, right?"
Billy gulped, blinking through the relief. "Did I… tell you this already?"
Meadows shook his head. "Who else have you told, then?"
Billy counted on his fingers. "Raul, Webber, Harold, Ante, Harris, Elena, Kevin…"
Meadows rolled his eyes. Even poor Kevin can't escape him.
Billy leaned back, satisfied, beer in hand. "I can't wait for the season to start! Why isn't it starting yet? I feel like I've been activated!"
Meadows smirked. "Second round, Everton."
Billy waved a dismissive hand. "Afraid? Nothing to worry about! We'll beat them!"
This was the mindset sweeping through Arsenal fans at the moment. As defending Premier League champions, confidence—and maybe a touch of arrogance—was in the air.
Everton?
Merely an obstacle.
Meadows shook his head. Optimism was fine, but matches, not hype, determined results. Arsenal's paper strength looked formidable, but performance on the pitch was another matter entirely.
...
At Colney Training Base, after a long day on the field, the squad gathered in the tactics room.
Arsène Wenger stood at the front, tapping the board to call the room to attention. Silence fell instantly.
"The Premier League starts in two days," Wenger began, voice calm but firm. "The first match is crucial. I don't want anyone underestimating the opponent or relaxing. Every match demands your utmost effort."
"Arsenal is a team built on discipline. Remember why we are here: titles."
"Whether you are a newcomer or a veteran, I expect the right attitude. Complacency has no place here. Understood?"
"Understood!" the squad responded in unison.
"Very good," Wenger nodded with quiet satisfaction before turning back to the tactics board.
"Our base structure remains the 4-2-3-1," he began calmly. "But compared to previous seasons, we are adding more high pressing. I want us to be proactive—willing to engage, willing to fight for every second ball."
This adjustment came with a cost: physical demand.
To address that, Arsenal had undergone intense conditioning before the season, almost doubling the physical workload from last year. Wenger made that point very clear.
"At the same time," he continued, "we do not abandon ball control. Even if we simplify certain elements, our football must still be technical."
That philosophy explained Arsenal's recruitment. Every new signing was technically strong—except N'Golo Kanté, whose role was clear: protect Le Kai, secure the midfield, and provide balance.
Arsenal's style was no longer pure passing and movement. It had evolved into something sharper—technical football reinforced by aggressive duels.
Against Arsenal now, opponents would feel pressure everywhere. Dribbles, short combinations, sudden presses, and constant physical challenges came in waves.
And at the heart of it all was Le Kai.
He was the engine of the team.
Together, Cazorla and Le Kai formed a perfect balance—engine and gearbox. Kai supplied constant momentum, while Cazorla linked the play higher up the pitch. When freed, Kai could join the attack, but his primary task remained the same: control the midfield and set the rhythm.
The explanation lasted nearly an hour.
Only then did Wenger dismiss the squad.
Kai slung his shoulder bag over his back and headed toward the parking lot. Chamberlain had finally stopped hitching rides after buying his own car, which suited him just fine.
As he drove out of the underground garage, a drizzle began to fall.
The wipers swept across the windshield as he passed the main building—and then he noticed someone standing near the entrance, sheltering from the rain.
Le Kai slowed, tapped the brakes, rolled down the window, and called out, "N'Golo! Over here!"
N'Golo Kanté looked up, spotted him, and jogged over.
"Get in," Kai said, unlocking the door.
The rain was coming down harder now, and Kanté quickly slipped into the passenger seat.
Kai pulled away smoothly. "Do you want me to introduce you to someone who deals with used cars?"
Kanté thought for a moment. "Yes… I need a car," he said carefully. "Not too expensive."
Kai nodded. "I know someone. I'll put you in touch."
"Thank you, Captain," Kanté said, smiling shyly.
He waved it off. "If you have any problems in the team, come to me. I'll help you sort them out."
Kanté nodded. "I… no problem."
After a pause, he pulled out his phone and made a quick call in French. Kai didn't follow the conversation, but he waited patiently.
When Kanté hung up, he smiled. "I call my family. First time play outside France. They worry."
"That's normal," Kai replied. "When I was fifteen, I left China and went to Portugal alone."
Kanté turned to him, clearly impressed. Fifteen years old, thousands of miles from home—and now Arsenal's captain.
After a brief silence, Kanté lowered his head slightly. "Captain… how I… get along with teammates?"
Le Kai glanced over, surprised. "Why do you ask?"
"They… not talk much with me," Kanté said with an awkward smile. "Maybe I boring?"
Le Kai chuckled softly. "These things take time. Don't change yourself just to fit in—that's not friendship."
The traffic light ahead turned red. Le Kai stopped the car and looked at him. "Be yourself. If people accept you as you are, that's when friendship works."
He smiled. "Like us. I don't think you're boring, and you don't think I'm too rigid. We accept each other. That's enough, right?"
Kanté nodded slowly, understanding settling in.
"Yes," he said quietly. "I understand."
The light turned green, and they drove on through the rain.
. . .
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