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Chapter 203: The Phone Call
🕑 Added 2025-10-19 14:22:22 +0000 UTCAfter Arsenal took the lead, their midfield began to dictate the rhythm, calmly shifting play from left to right to run down the clock.
It’s a familiar pattern for Arsenal these days. Once ahead, they stop wasting energy on relentless pressing and instead focus on controlling possession, forcing the opposition to chase shadows.
It’s attritional football, but when Arsenal play it right, they’re nearly untouchable.
Kai, Cazorla, and Rosický kept the ball moving effortlessly across the pitch, linking up in triangles that frustrated Everton to no end.
The Toffees tried several hard tackles to disrupt the rhythm, but their impatience cost them. Two yellow cards later, Arsenal were still in complete control.
By the 85th minute, Wenger made a decisive triple substitution, switching into full defensive mode.
Suárez, Kai, and Cazorla all came off to the applause of the traveling fans. Wenger wasn’t taking any risks with his key players this late in the season.
Everton pressed hard in the closing minutes but couldn’t find an equalizer.
Final score: Everton 0, Arsenal 1.
Arsenal’s winning streak extended to eight matches.
When the final whistle blew, the players finally let out a collective sigh of relief.
It wasn’t easy to protect such a narrow lead, especially with Chelsea just one point behind and Liverpool breathing down their necks.
...
Inside the locker room, the mood was mixed — relief, exhaustion, and the ever-present pressure of the title race.
“Chelsea won,” someone said after checking their phone.
A few seconds later came another voice: “Liverpool too.”
Groans rippled around the room.
“Do these guys ever drop points?”
“A one-point gap and a three-point gap… It’s torture!”
“I swear, sometimes I’d rather just be second,” someone muttered, half-joking.
“We just need five more wins to secure the title,” said one of the younger players optimistically.
Chamberlain laughed dryly. “Yeah? Don’t forget our last match is against Chelsea.”
That drew a round of knowing sighs.
“If the table stays like this,” Chamberlain shrugged, “that last match could decide it.”
“Or,” he grinned, “we could just drop out of the Champions League now and focus on the league.”
That earned a few chuckles, but no one could deny the thought had crossed their minds.
Still, being knocked out now — at the quarterfinal stage — would sting. They were too close to turn back. One more step to the semis, another to the final. The dream was still alive.
“Alright, enough talk,” Vermaelen said firmly, clapping his hands to draw everyone’s attention. “We give everything we’ve got in every match. No excuses. If you’ve got energy left, use it. The finish line’s in sight— don’t lose focus now.”
Heads nodded all around. They knew he was right.
Winning the Premier League was never easy. Every mistake, every lapse in concentration could derail the whole season.
Manchester City’s example was a warning — after losing to Arsenal, they’d shifted focus to securing a top-four spot instead.
After 33 rounds, Arsenal’s win had drawn Everton level on points with City, but City’s better goal difference kept them fourth. Even so, nothing was secure yet.
Wenger was deep in thought after the game. When richer clubs fought on two fronts, they could afford to rotate. Arsenal, with their thinner squad, couldn’t. Every change risked a dip in performance.
That meant the core players had to carry the load — game after game, week after week.
Kai was a prime example. Even with occasional rest, Wenger knew the pressure on him hadn’t eased.
Late in the season, Arsenal simply couldn’t function without him.
After Arsenal’s win, discussions behind the scenes were already turning toward the bigger picture — and for Arsène Wenger, that picture was starting to look a little strained.
The problem wasn’t just about tired legs or heavy fixtures.
In both defense and midfield, Kai was doing the work of two men.
If Arsenal hadn’t collapsed by now, it was largely because the 20-year-old kept covering every blade of grass to plug every gap.
But that couldn’t go on forever.
At this rate, Wenger knew he might burn out one of the brightest midfielders in Europe.
He needed to act — either by finding Kai a reliable midfield partner or reinforcing the backline to ease the defensive burden.
A few minutes later, he rose from his chair and walked into the adjoining office, where a middle-aged woman was working through spreadsheets.
“What's our transfer budget for the summer?” he asked, voice calm but direct.
She blinked, then began typing rapidly. After a short pause, she looked up and said, “Including club revenue and sponsorships, around sixty to seventy million euros.”
Wenger pressed his lips together. “Not enough.”
She looked up in surprise. “Not enough? Arsène, that’s seventy million euros.”
For Arsenal standards, that was a fortune.
But Wenger only shook his head. “Cut back where you can. I need a hundred million.”
“A hundred?” she repeated, stunned. “Are you serious?”
“I’m very serious,” he replied. “We’re going to buy. And we’re going to compete for the Champions League.”
His tone left no room for argument.
If he was going to spend, then this time, he’d do it properly.
They’d called him stingy for years — now he was ready to prove them wrong.
He’d build a side worthy of Europe’s biggest stage.
...
At his villa, Kai was on his yoga mat, stretching through his flexibility routine.
The club had encouraged players to rest more, but he couldn’t help himself — light training kept him sharp.
His flexibility had improved drastically; even with his solid frame, he moved smoothly now.
Still, he wasn’t the type to dance around defenders like a nimble South American. With his build, sharp turns would shred his knees.
So he focused on what suited him — powerful, controlled dribbling.
As he bent forward into another stretch, the phone beside him buzzed.
An unfamiliar number flashed on the screen. Foreign.
He hesitated, then answered. “Hello, who’s this?”
A lively voice came through, full of energy. “This is Liu Hongbo!”
Kai froze for a second before quickly responding. “Coach Liu! Hello!”
The head coach of the national team himself, calling him directly.
“Ah, just call me Old Liu,” the man said with a warm chuckle. “No need to be so formal. I like talking straight with you, younger players.”
Kai smiled. “Alright then, Old Liu.”
“I’m calling to check on you — body holding up fine?”
“Perfectly fine, coach. No problems at all.”
“Good,” Liu said, relief clear in his tone. “We’ve been watching your recent performances, and the staff have been discussing your role with the national side. I’ll share the details once we enter camp, but I wanted to let you know — we’ll start training in mid-May for the World Cup.”
Kai straightened. “Mid-May?”
“Yes. We’ll have a few warm-up matches too, to help everyone gel. You’ll play an important role — no less than Wang Yi.”
Kai laughed softly. “Putting pressure on me already?”
“The capable always get more work,” Liu replied, laughing heartily. “We’re not like the big football nations — no endless supply of talent. When we get a midfielder of your quality, we make the most of it!”
“Ah, I’m not world-class yet,” Kai said modestly.
“Nonsense,” Liu shot back. “In defense, you already are. And your passing and long shots aren’t far behind. We’ll count on you to link defense and attack. Just — whatever happens — don’t get injured!”
Kai chuckled. “Don’t worry, coach. I’ll take care. I wouldn’t miss the World Cup for anything.”
“That’s what I like to hear!” Liu said cheerfully. “We’ll send the exact dates in early May. And remember — don’t be late. I run a tight ship.”
Kai grinned. “If I’m late without a reason, you can punish me however you like.”
“Good!” Liu laughed. “Alright, I’ll let you get back to it. End the season strong — bring home the Premier League trophy. Then we can brag a little: a Ligue 1 striker and a Premier League midfielder — not bad for us, eh?”
Kai’s grin widened. “Deal, coach.”
And as the line went dead, he couldn’t help but smile — the next challenge was already calling.
