GRANDMAESTA_30
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Chapter 195: Clean Sheet Bet
🕑 Added 2025-10-16 14:11:40 +0000 UTCThat evening, the Arsenal squad gathered in the lounge to go over the next day’s Champions League clash.
The television was playing pre-match coverage — warm-ups, interviews, predictions — all in rapid German.
“Can anyone tell me what he’s saying?”
Walcott frowned, pointing at the screen where Marco Reus was giving an interview.
Podolski chuckled and leaned forward. “He’s saying Arsenal’s a strong team, and they’ll give everything tomorrow.”
He paused for effect, then added, “And when the reporter asked about Le Kai, Reus said you’re an excellent midfielder, Kai — that playing against you always puts him under a lot of pressure. Says both sides only lost once in the group, but personally, he felt second best.”
A few players whistled and laughed.
Podolski continued with a grin, “Oh, and one more thing — he said Dortmund, as the Bundesliga’s last hope, will beat us and make the semifinals.”
That earned a chorus of scoffs.
“Yeah, right!”
“He’s dreaming!”
“I respect Dortmund, but we’re the better side.”
No one in the room looked remotely intimidated. Confidence was high — they’d come too far to start doubting themselves now.
Le Kai, sitting in the middle of the group, hadn’t joined in. He was scrolling through Dortmund’s recent matches on his phone, earbuds in.
Their late-season form worried him. Lewandowski and Reus had been electric lately — their link-up play sharper than ever. Hummels was still solid at the back, and Dortmund’s pressing looked sharper.
Compared to the group stage, this version of BVB felt much more complete — faster, hungrier, harder to break down.
“This won’t be easy,” Kai muttered, removing his headphones. He exhaled softly, then stood. “Alright, that’s enough. Back to your rooms soon, yeah? I don’t want anyone turning up tomorrow with bags under their eyes.”
Groans filled the room.
“It’s only eight!”
“Too early, captain!”
“Come on, one more hour!”
Kai grinned. “Fine. One hour. But I’ll be doing rounds at nine. If I find anyone still here, don’t blame me when I drag you off to bed.”
The laughter returned instantly.
“No problem!”
“An hour it is!”
Shaking his head, Kai smiled and walked out toward the lift.
The corridor was quiet. As he passed the fire escape, the motion light flickered on and off — someone was there. He glanced toward the stairwell and spotted a faint red glow in the dark.
He frowned. “Wojciech?”
There was a quick shuffle of feet, and the red light vanished.
Moments later, Szczęsny appeared from the stairs, looking sheepish.
Kai sniffed the air. The smell was unmistakable. “You’re smoking again.”
Szczęsny rubbed his neck awkwardly. “Just one. I was nervous… needed to take the edge off.”
Kai sighed, half-helpless, half-amused. “You know that’s not the way to deal with stress.”
Szczęsny managed a crooked smile. “You’re not going to tell Wenger, are you?”
Kai folded his arms. “I’m not a snitch. But I am going to help you sort this out.”
It wasn’t the first time. Szczęsny’s habit went back years — a cigarette in the car park after training, one before a game the season before. Old habits died hard, but Kai had no intention of letting them drag the team down now.
Especially at the end of last season—after that painful Champions League exit—he’d been caught smoking in the dressing room bathroom. Wenger fined him twenty thousand pounds on the spot.
You’d think that would’ve been a wake-up call. But some habits die hard.
“Woj, Wenger’s serious this time,” Kai said, arms crossed, tone half-warning and half-concerned. “He’s given you a final ultimatum. If you can’t quit, you might be out of Arsenal.”
He sighed, choosing his words carefully. “Look, you know what smoking does to your body. Your explosiveness, your conditioning—it all takes a hit. I’m not trying to lecture you, Wojciech. I just... want to help. We’ve been through a lot together, and I know the pressure’s tough. But that’s not the way to deal with it.”
He paused, then added, “If it’s about confidence—if you feel like you can’t find that sense of security out there—I’ll help however I can.”
When Kai had first joined Arsenal, Szczęsny had been one of the few who’d welcomed him properly, even gone out of his way to make things easier. Kai had never forgotten that. And now, he didn’t want to see his friend throw it all away over cigarettes.
No coach could tolerate a player who smoked. Not at this level.
Szczęsny let out a dry laugh. “I know. It’s just… I get in my own head sometimes. Pressure builds up, and I start losing control of my emotions. Smoking helps me calm down—for a bit, at least.”
Kai glanced at the cigarette in his hand, then grinned. “Alright, how about this—we make a bet.”
“A bet?” Szczęsny looked up, curious.
“Yeah. In this match, I’ll help you find that security you’ve been missing. We’ll keep a clean sheet against Dortmund. If we pull that off, you quit smoking. Deal?”
Szczęsny raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious? A clean sheet at Westfalen? You do realize who we’re up against, right?”
Kai shrugged with a faint smile. “Hey, nothing’s impossible.”
The keeper thought for a moment, then nodded. “Alright, fine. If we actually keep a clean sheet there, I’ll quit. No excuses.”
“Good,” Kai said, satisfied. “And if we don’t—”
Szczęsny quickly cut him off with a wave. “No need, man. This is already your way of helping me. You don’t have to give up anything.”
He chuckled, glancing at the cigarette again. “Uh… can I finish this one, though?”
Kai gave him a flat stare.
Szczęsny raised his hands in surrender, laughing. “Okay, okay! I won’t! You win!”
He started to turn away, but Kai blocked him. “Hand it over.”
“What?” Szczęsny blinked, pretending not to understand.
Kai extended his hand, waiting.
With a groan, Szczęsny fished out the pack from his pocket and handed it over. “That’s my only one.”
Kai crushed the pack into a ball and tossed it into the bin nearby. “Good. Trust me—you won’t need them anymore.”
Szczęsny sighed but couldn’t help smiling as they walked back to their rooms.
Later that night, Kai stayed up a bit longer, rewatching Dortmund’s recent matches. He wasn’t the type to sleep easily before big games.
Around nine, he went downstairs to check on the others. The lobby was empty—everyone was already in their rooms resting. Good.
He nodded to himself and headed back upstairs, finally letting sleep take him.
...
The next day
Kai was up early, already finishing breakfast by the time most of his teammates were still rubbing sleep from their eyes. He’d squeezed in a light gym session too—nothing too heavy, just enough to get the blood flowing.
By afternoon, Wenger gathered the squad for a pitch inspection at Westfalen. They’d get an hour to familiarize themselves with the grass and the atmosphere.
The day passed in a blur.
When night fell, Dortmund came alive. Neon lights flashed across the city as waves of fans in yellow jerseys poured toward the stadium, chanting, singing, buzzing with energy.
At 8:30 PM sharp, the Arsenal and Dortmund team buses pulled up outside Westfalenstadion.
The stage was set.
A Champions League quarterfinal—Borussia Dortmund versus Arsenal.
Would Dortmund reach the semis again, or would Arsenal carve out their fifth in club history?
Whatever the outcome, one thing was certain—this was going to be a night to remember.
