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Chapter 12: First Team Training 2
🕑 Added 2025-05-14 15:18:04 +0000 UTCWenger stood quietly on the sidelines, arms folded, brow furrowed. He wasn’t watching the starters.
His real attention was on the substitutes.
More specifically, Arteta and Gervinho.
Arteta had been a stabilizing presence in midfield, his experience and calm proving invaluable. Gervinho, on the other hand, had been disappointing. Wenger envisioned him as a winger—someone with a fast pace down the flanks. But so far, the performances hadn’t lived up to the potential.
....
The starters were on the attack.
Rosický slid a pass to Arshavin, who spun and attempted to find Van Persie, who had dropped deeper to receive the ball and transition play.
But before the ball reached its target, a flash of yellow broke into the channel.
Arshavin blinked. Out of nowhere, a substitute wearing a yellow bib executed a perfect sliding tackle, clipped the ball cleanly with his toe, got up mid-slide, steadied himself with two quick steps, and immediately sent a pass forward to Arteta.
The entire field paused.
Even Arshavin stood stunned.
It was an impeccable challenge—clean, efficient, and disruptive to the starters’ rhythm.
“It’s him again,” Arshavin muttered, frustrated.
Wenger raised his eyebrows and turned to his staff. “Did anyone see how he got there?”
The coaches glanced at each other, caught off guard.
They’d been focused on Arteta and Gervinho, not Kai.
How had he gotten there?
Kai’s interception stunned the starters, and Arteta wasted no time in launching a counterattack.
Kai didn’t join the rush forward. Instead, he backpedaled to take up a position near Arteta.
He knew his limitations.
He wasn’t yet comfortable with Arsenal’s quick passing rhythm or tight dribbling spaces. Charging forward would only clog the lanes. Better to stay back and provide cover.
Thanks to Arteta’s creative spark, the ball was soon in the box. Chamberlain received the pass but hesitated. One touch too many. A defender closed in and stripped the ball clean before he could shoot.
The clearance flew high, dropping into the open midfield—Arteta and Benayoun had advanced too deep, leaving space behind.
Walcott chased it, eyes fixed on the falling ball.
Then, a sharp whistle in the air.
Kai flew in.
Leaping high, he beat Walcott to the ball with a clean header, sending it out of bounds and buying time for his team to regroup.
When he landed, his chest was slightly heaving.
Back-to-back defensive efforts.
Everyone turned to look at Kai—two big plays in under a minute.
An interception. A clearance.
He seemed to be everywhere.
Even Alex Song, lining up with the starters, slapped his thigh and muttered.
“Damn.”
As a fellow holding midfielder, Song knew how hard those plays were to pull off, especially with such clean timing. Maybe luck played a part, but Song wasn’t sure he could’ve executed them as well.
Kai’s back-to-back efforts completely disrupted the starters’ momentum.
Even the coaches on the sideline exchanged glances.
“I think I see it now,” said a voice.
The coaching staff turned toward Tony Colbert, the team’s fitness coach.
“He didn’t join the attack. He chose to stay back and cover the risk.”
Tony pointed to the now-filled midfield zone. “He must’ve realized that if the attack failed, that spot would be exposed. So he covered it early.”
He paused. “That’s good awareness. Great positional sense.”
Tony scratched his head and added, “And he’s got a knack for reading passes and judging space.”
He glanced at Wenger.
Wenger gave a subtle nod in agreement.
Beep!
On the pitch, Pat Rice—acting as the referee—blew the whistle.
He turned toward the coaches with a smug smile, as if to say, Now that’s your midfield enforcer.
“Nice work!” Arteta called out as he jogged back.
He gave Kai a firm pat on the shoulder.
Without Kai’s covering defense, the subs could’ve easily conceded.
Kai grinned, bumped his fist gently against Arteta’s chest, and said, “You go forward. I’ll hold the midfield.”
Arteta blinked, then laughed and nodded. “That’s what I like to hear.”
It felt good, having a defensive partner he could count on.
...
With Kai anchoring the midfield, the substitute team slowly gained control.
Kai and Arteta—defense and control—worked in sync.
And as Kai kept up his strong play, teammates began to involve him more.
They passed him the ball.
To Kai, it was a sign: they were starting to trust him.
But he remained cautious.
He knew his ball-handling wasn’t at the same level yet. He avoided dwelling on the ball, limiting himself to one or two touches before moving it on.
His first choice was always Arteta. He was the playmaker.
If Arteta wasn’t available, Kai looked for Benayoun.
One of the two was always nearby.
With that simple, disciplined approach, Kai settled in and started to shine.
Meanwhile, Chamberlain struggled.
Less than 20 minutes in, he was drenched in sweat.
The starters’ defense pressured him relentlessly, and his frustration built with every missed touch.
His breathing turned ragged. His movements grew frantic.
Next to him, Kai was fitting in. Earning trust. Becoming a central figure.
But Chamberlain?
He hadn’t done anything.
He needed to score. He had to perform.
So he kept pressing, charging forward like a bull.
I must score. I have to do something.
But the silence was deafening.
Passes zipped around, but no one shouted. No one encouraged.
....
Wenger frowned on the sidelines.
Something was wrong.
The energy was off.
No one was talking. No one was leading.
That tension flowed from the starters and infected the subs.
Wenger glanced at Van Persie.
The captain remained quiet.
Then he looked at Arteta.
Still silent.
Wenger sighed. Arteta wasn’t the vocal type. It wasn’t in his nature to bark orders.
But Arsenal needed someone to break this heavy silence.
And no one stepped up.
Wenger tilted his face to the sun, its glare making him squint.
But the training ground felt dim, as if clouded by something darker than weather.
....
Then Chamberlain fell.
He failed to control a pass from Arteta and hit the ground hard.
He lay there, fists clenched.
Maybe I’ll just stay down, he thought. I don’t want to keep going.
He had played terribly.
Silence.
Everyone watched quietly, waiting for him to get up.
Then, out of nowhere, a voice roared across the field.
“Get up!”
Heads turned.
Near the center circle stood Kai, face filled with frustration, yelling at the top of his lungs.
“Get up, idiot! One bad play and you're giving up? That’s it? You’re going to waste all this over that?”
His voice rang out again.
“Stand up! You want to quit now? You’re Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain! Act like it!”
Still, Chamberlain didn’t move.
Kai stormed toward him, voice even louder.
“Don’t make me drag your sorry ass off that grass!"
Chamberlain slowly pushed himself up.
Kai reached him, eyes blazing.
“You want to score goals?” he asked.
Chamberlain nodded weakly. “Yeah.”
“Then say it. Out loud. Communicate. We’re a team, not mind readers. You want the ball? Talk. You want to win? Say it.”
Kai’s voice echoed. Everyone could hear him.
Chamberlain took a deep breath. “Yes!”
Kai clapped a hand on his shoulder. “That’s more like it.”
Then he noticed the stunned silence.
Everyone was staring at him.
Kai glanced at Arteta. “Problem?”
Arteta blinked, then smiled. “No problem. You nailed it.”
Kai turned to the rest of the team, then muttered something under his breath in Mandarin.
Hopeless.
