What is it like to be friends with a prince?
Kai had a simple answer. "Annoying."
Prince Harry did not seem to have many people he could treat as equals. Once he decided Kai was a friend, he embraced the role with surprising intensity.
At seven in the morning, Kai's phone would ring.
"Good morning, my friend."
At noon, it rang again.
"Have you eaten?"
In the evening, there would be another call.
"Come over to the estate tonight. Dinner. Proper food."
Kai refused every time, firmly and without hesitation.
Strangely, the refusals only encouraged Harry.
"Friends say no sometimes," he insisted cheerfully. "That's how you know it's real."
Kai could not quite follow the logic. Perhaps it was a version of prince syndrome, reshaped by a life of protocol and distance.
What tested his patience most was Harry's stamina on the phone. Just as Kai was drifting off to sleep, the screen would light up.
Harry would then talk for an hour. Complaints. Old grievances. Names Kai had never heard before. Stories from circles he had no connection to.
Most nights, Kai placed the phone on the bedside table and let him speak. Eventually, when Harry ran out of words, the line would go quiet.
While this unlikely friendship developed, the aftermath of the birthday banquet began to gather momentum.
The first spark came from The Sun.
A sharp headline, "Who is she?", was enough to ignite speculation.
"She" was Ma Fanshu. In the paper's version of events, she became Kai's secret girlfriend, hidden carefully from the public eye.
Follow-up pieces hinted at inside sources and exclusive details, none of which Kai recognized as reality.
It was a direct intrusion into his private life.
Public criticism would not trouble a tabloid built on controversy, and Kai had neither the time nor the energy to fight a media war. A far more urgent matter was approaching.
The London derby.
Arsenal were heading to Stamford Bridge to face Chelsea F.C..
It was their second meeting of the season. The first had come in the Community Shield, where both sides treated the match as preparation. This time, there were league points at stake.
Chelsea were formidable.
Behind Thibaut Courtois, their defensive structure had grown compact and disciplined. In midfield, Cesc Fàbregas dictated tempo alongside Nemanja Matić, with Oscar, André Schürrle, and Eden Hazard offering movement and threat. It was a unit capable of matching anyone.
Up front, Diego Costa had arrived. In Spain colours he had looked awkward at times, but in England, under José Mourinho, he was ruthless.
Direct. Physical. Relentless.
If Arsenal represented fluid movement and combination play, Chelsea embodied control and positional strength.
It was a contest of styles.
On Sky Sports, the build-up intensified.
"This is a genuine heavyweight contest. Arsenal's rhythm against Chelsea's structure. It promises to be absorbing."
"And there's a subplot in midfield. Kai against Fàbregas. Last season, Arsenal edged it collectively, but individually, many felt the Spaniard had the stronger game going forward. This year, Kai looks more complete."
Promotional clips leaned heavily into that duel. Some Arsenal supporters disliked the comparison. Others welcomed it. Either way, the spotlight was fixed.
On the morning before the match, Kai's phone rang again.
"Listen," Harry said, his tone heated. "Give that Spaniard a proper lesson."
There was a sharp crackling sound in the background.
"What are you doing?" Kai asked.
"I'm arguing online."
Kai closed his eyes briefly. "You're arguing with strangers?"
"They are most foolish, I must say."
"I'm heading into the tactics room," he said.
"Very well. Focus, my friend, and see this victory through."
The call ended.
Chamberlain glanced over. "Who was that?"
"A friend," Kai replied.
Inside the meeting room, once the squad had assembled, Arsène Wenger began outlining the plan.
4-1-4-1.
It was pragmatic. Away at Stamford Bridge, caution mattered. The shape would not rely on high pressing. Instead, Arsenal would pack the midfield, close passing lanes, and look to win the ball in their own half before breaking with speed.
Control the central space. Deny Fàbregas time. Limit Costa's service.
At the same time, the single defensive midfield role was occupied by Kai.
Arsène Wenger saw this as a chance to test whether, with three central midfielders plus a free man, Arsenal could maintain midfield control under Kai's leadership.
This setup tested both the attacking midfielders' ability to create and Kai's ability to orchestrate from deep. It was arguably the toughest task Wenger could assign.
If Kai could stabilize the deep-lying playmaker position and use his passing to influence the attack, Chelsea would struggle to find rhythm. If not, Arsenal would be forced to adjust the formation mid-game.
Wenger, however, had confidence. Last season, Kai had excelled as a single defensive midfielder against Bayern Munich. A year on, his progress was clear, and Wenger was eager to see his evolution in that pivotal role.
After the tactical briefing, the players were dismissed. London slept under a quiet tension, the city alive with anticipation for the derby. Fans of both Arsenal and Chelsea felt the pressure; home support alone could not guarantee a win.
The following day, at Stamford Bridge, an ordinary grey sedan pulled into the car park. A man stepped out wearing a baseball cap, hoodie, sunglasses, and a fake mustache. He glanced around carefully, wary of recognition.
"Meghan, you can come out now," he whispered.
Wrapped in a silk scarf, sunglasses shielding her eyes, Meghan muttered in mild exasperation, "Harry, you must take responsibility for this idea."
Harry adjusted the fake mustache under his nose. "Relax! Our disguise is flawless. If someone spots us and wants to make a fuss, I'll leave for future me."
They walked a few steps, then Meghan suddenly stopped.
"Harry?" she asked. "You're going the wrong way."
"I'm not!" Harry protested.
Meghan shook her head, gesturing behind her. "That's the VIP entrance."
Her eyes widened. "Harry! No—you wouldn't be that reckless."
Harry grinned, waving two ordinary match tickets. "Look! We got in!"
Meghan covered her face, whispering, "F**k!"
"You can't swear! You're a princess," Harry said, laughing.
Meghan shot him a sharp admonishing look.
Harry froze, wordless, as she glared.
Meanwhile, inside the stadium, anticipation rippled through the crowd. On Sky Sports, Martin Taylor leaned into the microphone.
"Today is a midfield masterclass in waiting. Arsenal's Kai against Chelsea's Fàbregas—two very different styles, both critical to their teams."
Alan Smith added, "Kai's role is central. If he can control the deep areas and link play, Chelsea will feel uncomfortable, despite their talent up front."
. . .
Please do leave a review and powerstones, which helps with the book's exposure.
Feel like joining a Patreon for free and subscribing to advanced chapters?
Visit the link:
[email protected]/GRANDMAESTA_30
Change @ to a