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Chapter 2: A choice
🕑 Added 2025-05-14 15:18:02 +0000 UTCThe office was quiet, the only sound being the soft tapping of rain against the windows.
Le Kai sat upright, occasionally glancing around the room and at the older man across from him.
Wenger sat with his legs crossed, flipping through a document without saying a word.
Neither of them spoke. Le Kai didn’t know how to start.
Just like before, he couldn’t quite understand why someone like Arsène Wenger—one of the most respected coaches in the world—had taken an interest in him. From an outsider’s point of view, he was just an ordinary player. But Le Kai knew better. He held a secret close to his chest.
He wasn’t from this world.
He was born in Shenyang, the capital of Liaoning Province in northern China, in 1994. Thanks to memories from a past life, he was unusually disciplined from a young age. He started training himself in basic football skills when other kids were still figuring out how to dribble. Maybe it was the disappointment in how Chinese football had fared in his previous life that gave him the fire to push himself.
Adjusting to this new world wasn’t hard—some things were different, but not too different. And this version of China took football much more seriously. Since 2002, the national team had qualified for two consecutive World Cups. Though they never made it out of the group stage, they had scored goals and even won matches. Compared to the barren record of his old world, it was a massive improvement. Now, the country was aiming for the knockout stages.
It wouldn’t be easy, but then again, nothing worthwhile ever is. The government had rolled out three waves of structured youth development programs, each spanning three years. These programs had strict performance indicators, which led to the discovery and nurturing of genuine talent. Le Kai was part of the third wave. After excelling in the northern regional selection, he was sent to Sporting Lisbon’s youth academy in Portugal. He did well enough to break into the Portuguese Super League, and now here he was—sitting across from Wenger, having just been offered a contract at Arsenal.
By most standards, he was still an ordinary player. But there was one thing that made him special: he could see the path of the ball. It wasn’t magic, but it might as well have been. He could anticipate passes and movements with near-perfect accuracy. This ability made him an elite ball-winner—a machine. During his stint with Sporting Lisbon, he made 80 steals in 25 games. That’s 3.2 per game—ridiculous numbers for someone his age. The locals gave him a nickname: O Bloqueio—The Block.
That was probably why Wenger wanted him. Arsenal had been struggling with defensive midfield stability ever since Cesc Fàbregas and Alex Song left. Le Kai assumed Wenger saw his ball-winning ability as a solution.
But then, Wenger looked up and asked a question that made Le Kai sit up straighter.
“Do you want to be a world-class central midfielder?”
Le Kai blinked. World-class central midfielder?
He stared at Wenger, who wasn’t smiling. The man looked completely serious, even confident. That confidence was contagious. For the first time, Le Kai wondered—could he be something more?
He had always trained as a defender, whether to be played in the central or midfield defense. Since he was seven. Could he change now?
Maybe sensing his doubt, Wenger stood up, walked over to his desk, and placed a laptop on the coffee table. He opened a video file and rotated the screen so both of them could see. Le Kai leaned in.
It was footage from a recent friendly match. At the 65th minute, Arshavin attempted a breakthrough, and Le Kai executed a flawless interception.
He remembered this moment clearly. He’d used his predictive ability, moved early, and shut the attack down.
Wenger rewound the clip a few seconds and pointed to the moment just before the steal.
“Why did you move to the right before Arshavin even started his run?”
Le Kai hesitated. “Because... I knew he’d go that way.”
Wenger nodded and fast-forwarded to the 78th minute. Another interception. Then another. And another.
Each time, Wenger simply said, “Here.”
Finally, he paused and looked at Le Kai seriously.
“You understand how we play. You’ve shown the ability to read the game at a very high level. Am I correct in thinking you have exceptional spatial awareness and dynamic vision?”
Le Kai didn’t answer right away.
Wenger smiled slightly and resumed the video. “Now watch this—injury time, two minutes in. That long pass.”
The clip showed a brilliant diagonal ball from Le Kai. It sliced through Arsenal’s defense like a knife through butter.
“That pass was world-class,” Wenger said. “The only reason it didn’t lead to a goal was because your striker didn’t make the run.”
Le Kai listened quietly.
Then Wenger leaned back, his voice soft but certain.
“You’re 17. Your game’s not set in stone. You’ve got time to grow into a different role. How about giving central midfield a try?”
Le Kai hesitated. “But... I’ve never trained as a central midfielder, Professor.”
Wenger chuckled warmly. “Don’t worry. If it doesn’t work, you can go back to your usual position. I just don’t want to see your talent wasted where it’s not being used fully.”
Le Kai took a deep breath, then nodded.
“Thank you for believing in me. I’ll give it everything I’ve got.”
As he left the office, Wenger’s words kept replaying in his head.
Outside, Martin Hughes was waiting.
“How’d it go?” he asked.
Le Kai smiled faintly. “Contract’s signed.”
Martin grinned and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Welcome to Arsenal.”
“Thanks,” Le Kai replied, his smile widening.
He noticed Martin seemed especially upbeat today.
“What’s got you in such a good mood?”
Martin beamed. “The King’s coming back.”
Le Kai blinked. The King?
And then he realized.
Thierry Henry.
...
As he left the building, a man named Billy came to pick him up. Billy was a 35-year-old man with a cowboy hat, a round belly, and a strong smell of cow dung and stale beer clinging to him despite the air freshener in his Jeep. His nose was red, and it wasn’t hard to tell he enjoyed his alcohol.
Billy was Le Kai’s host.
Because Le Kai was underage, the club arranged for him to stay with a host family. Billy was an Arsenal diehard, a local farmer with some wealth, and someone the club trusted.
Billy was warm and chatty, peppering his speech with broken Chinese and even giving Le Kai a nickname- Lucky, because his Chinese name sounded similar to the English word lucky. Even though Le Kai had tried explaining that Yue was a polyphonic character, Billy stuck with his version.
They lived in a quiet town with fewer than a thousand residents. Mostly farms and open fields. If not for the heavy rain, Le Kai might have enjoyed a walk around.
Billy led him into a two-story house that smelled strongly of grilled cheese.
“Elena knew you were coming,” Billy said with a grin. “She started cooking early.”
A plump woman stepped out of the kitchen, holding a spatula and a kitchen towel. She smiled warmly.
“Welcome,” she said.
Le Kai felt a surge of warmth from the kindness in her voice.
“Come in, I’m just finishing dinner. I hope you’re hungry.” She gave him a gentle hug. “You’re going to be an Arsenal Gunner soon, right?”
Le Kai smiled back. “I’ll work hard.”
Billy carried his luggage upstairs. The second floor had a hallway with two rooms on either side.
“That one on the left’s my son’s room,” he said. “His name’s Kevin. He’s ten.”
A voice came from behind the door. “Eleven after February!”
The door cracked open, and a shy blue-eyed boy peeked out.
“Hello,” he said timidly.
“Hi,” Le Kai replied, waving.
Billy frowned. “Kevin, come out and say hello properly. You need to learn some manners.”
“Don’t wanna!”
The door slammed shut.
Billy sighed. “As you can see, Kevin’s a bit... different.”
Le Kai chuckled. “He’ll warm up eventually.”
“I hope so,” Billy said, shaking his head.
