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Chapter 10: Arsenal's Bad Start
🕑 Added 2025-05-14 15:18:04 +0000 UTCRound One: Arteta vs. Chamberlain
Arteta attacked. Chamberlain defended.
Kai stood on the sidelines, observing quietly.
Arteta was a technically balanced player. None of his skills stood out dramatically, but he had no glaring weaknesses either. His only issue was performance under pressure. Against weaker sides, his control and passing were elegant. But in matches against the likes of Manchester United and Liverpool, he tended to disappear in midfield.
So the solution was simple: apply pressure.
On the pitch, Arteta began his advance. Chamberlain had solid attacking instincts but was less refined defensively.
Kai figured even he might have been able to break through.
When Arteta danced past Oxlade-Chamberlain with a burst of skill, Chamberlain immediately asked for a rematch.
Kai smiled at Chamberlain’s enthusiasm. It was good to see him getting out of his own head.
Arteta chuckled, passed the ball back, and said, “Enough defending. Your turn to attack.”
Chamberlain’s eyes lit up. He was far more confident on the ball than off it.
And lately, after constantly facing off against Kai’s suffocating defense, his ability to break through had visibly improved.
Kai had noticed the same. Chamberlain might not be renowned for his dribbling in the future, but the difference from a few months ago was undeniable.
Chamberlain stepped forward, dancing around the ball with light, precise touches.
Arteta lowered his center of gravity, ready to respond.
Kai spotted Arteta spreading his stance slightly—an obvious invitation for a nutmeg.
Before, Chamberlain might have fallen for it. But now, after seeing Kai use the same baiting move so many times, he held his nerve.
Sure enough, Chamberlain shifted directions instead, exploiting Arteta’s overextension.
Two months of daily training had sharpened his directional changes.
But experience still had its edge.
Arteta seized the moment, capitalizing on Chamberlain’s wide step to steal the ball cleanly.
Chamberlain froze, then sighed and jogged to the sideline, already reviewing the sequence in his head.
Next up was Kai.
“Need a break?” he asked, stepping forward.
Arteta wasn’t in the squad for today’s match. Most likely recovering from injury.
“I’m good,” Arteta said with a relaxed smile.
Kai nodded, inhaled deeply, and crouched slightly into his stance.
Now he was facing a Premier League regular.
Though he’d marked Arsenal players during friendlies, Kai still wasn’t fully sure how his defending would hold up against another top-tier European talent.
This was the perfect opportunity to find out.
Noticing Kai’s focused expression, Arteta’s smile faded too.
Pat Rice had once remarked that only Van Persie could consistently get past Kai in training.
Arteta wanted to see for himself.
“Here we go!” he called out and nudged the ball forward.
Kai adjusted, keeping about a meter of space—close enough to apply pressure, far enough to react.
He understood that too much distance gave fast players an easy opening.
So he moved forward with each step, staying tight to his man.
He also knew Arteta’s weakness: pressure.
Kai’s positioning was textbook. Arteta couldn’t find a gap to exploit.
Still, he was a Spaniard—crafty, clever with the ball—and he began feinting frequently, trying to create space.
But Kai stayed locked on the ball, his anticipation razor-sharp.
Arteta paused, then suddenly cut to the left.
Kai reacted just as fast.
From the sidelines, Chamberlain called out with a grin, “Let’s go, Kai!”
Arteta lost his footing slightly, then turned in surprise as he saw Kai calmly stepping on the ball.
“How did you know I was going left?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
Kai shrugged with a smile. “Intuition.”
Arteta laughed and returned the ball. “Your turn.”
Kai began his run.
Compared to his defense, his attacking footwork still needed work. His fake-outs were clunky, and he relied more on strength than finesse.
Predictably, Arteta poked the ball away with a simple interception.
Kai shook his head, grinning ruefully.
Still a long way to go.
“Again?” Arteta asked, stepping on the ball.
“Again,” Kai replied firmly.
...
Round Two
This time, Arteta switched tactics. He turned his back to Kai, feinted left, then smoothly shifted both his body and the ball to the right in one seamless motion.
Kai’s eyes widened.
A Frenkie de Jong move.
But he recovered quickly, responding with a sliding tackle just in time to win the ball cleanly.
Arteta paused, clearly impressed.
He hadn’t expected such decisiveness. Not at this level.
Kai, meanwhile, looked down at his hand in thought.
He’d spent two months under Pat Rice’s mentorship, training hard. His body had grown stronger.
Even so, against a Spanish playmaker, pure strength hadn’t given him the edge.
If he couldn’t impose pressure, he’d be exposed.
“I need to work harder,” he muttered to himself.
Arteta turned and said, “Another round?”
Kai faced him, eyes determined. “Let’s go.”
....
Evening at the Arsenal Training Base
Back at the training ground, the team bus returned quietly.
[Tactics Room]
Wenger stood at the front, eyes heavy.
“Forget today’s result,” he said flatly. “Back to training tomorrow. Dismissed.”
The players filtered out in silence.
Not one of them looked satisfied.
Their first Premier League match had been against Newcastle—a mid-table team from last season—and even though it was away, they’d all expected a win.
Instead, the performance had been disjointed.
The defense was shaky.
Midfield couldn’t keep possession or push forward.
And the strikers had to drop deep just to touch the ball.
It had been a mess.
Arsenal’s regulars left the tactics room looking grim, barely speaking.
Once they were gone, Wenger sighed and tapped the table with his knuckles.
Knock knock.
He turned to see Pat and Arteta enter the room.
His mood brightened slightly upon seeing Arteta.
“How’s the injury?” Wenger asked gently.
Arteta rotated his shoulder. “Doc says I’ll need about two more weeks of recovery.”
Wenger nodded—then frowned slightly.
Arteta was drenched in sweat. Clearly not from light training.
“You’re supposed to be resting, not exhausting yourself,” Wenger scolded mildly.
Arteta rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “I couldn’t help it. I’ve missed being on the pitch.”
Pat chuckled. “So, how was he?”
Arteta’s expression turned serious. “Strong instincts. Excellent positioning. Times interceptions well. If it’s possible, I’d like him as a midfield partner.”
That surprised Pat.
He hadn’t expected such high praise.
Wenger blinked. “Who are you talking about?”
Pat explained briefly, and Wenger’s interest was piqued.
“He marked you?”
Arteta let out a short laugh. “Quite well. I barely got past him.”
He didn’t sound upset—if anything, he seemed encouraged.
Arteta’s style lacked physicality. Having someone like Kai beside him could make a big difference.
“But he hasn’t been registered yet,” Wenger added, shaking his head. “Still waiting on his work permit.”
Arteta’s smile faded. “Ah, right. The permit.”
Wenger nodded. “Exactly.”
After exchanging a few more words, Arteta took his leave.
Wenger turned to Pat. “How’s their progress?”
“Quick,” Pat said. “Especially Lucky.”
“Lucky?” Wenger raised an eyebrow.
Pat grinned. “Billy gave him that nickname. His Chinese name sounds a bit like ‘Luck.’”
Wenger chuckled.
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “Arsenal could use a little luck.”
Then, after a brief pause, he added, “Let them join full team training tomorrow.”
