"Oh, Captain! Oh, Van Persie! Oh, he's our leader—"
In the house, Billy was humming a made-up chant, clearly inspired by Van Persie's recent heroics on the pitch.
To be fair, Van Persie had been in outrageous form lately—single-handedly dragging Arsenal out of tight spots with crucial goals, becoming a beacon of hope for the fans.
And the supporters were finally warming up to him. A captain who could score like that? Not bad at all. Billy was among the converted.
"That's it—I'm going to the Emirates for the next home game!" Billy slapped his thigh, beaming with excitement.
Kai was lounging on the sofa nearby, lazily rolling the ball back and forth between his feet without letting it hit the ground. He chuckled. "Meadows won't be too happy about that."
"Forget about him!" Billy waved it off. "That's between him and Wenger. Why should we get dragged into it? And anyway, your debut's coming up, isn't it?"
Kai smiled, planted the ball under his foot, and said, "Yeah, the club told me they've scheduled a hearing for the end of November. The odds are in my favor."
"Brilliant! I'll be there for your debut—absolutely! Come on, score a goal on your first outing. Arsenal fans will never forget you!"
Kai laughed wryly. "I play defensive midfield."
"So? Who says a midfielder can't score?" Billy grinned.
Kai shook his head, amused. Sure, anyone could score in theory, but midfielders usually had fewer chances.
Just then, he glanced over and saw Kevin sitting on the floor, fiddling with his baseball glove.
Kevin was a loyal Arsenal fan, though his heart leaned more toward baseball. The house had more than a few sets of baseball gear lying around.
Since that last incident, Kevin had become much more cheerful—he'd even joined the school baseball team.
Kai thought for a moment, then stood up and walked over.
"Hey Kevin, mind if we have a quick chat?"
Kevin looked up from his glove, puzzled.
Kai gestured upstairs, and Kevin followed quickly.
Once inside, Kai shut the door and smiled. "I need to borrow something."
"What is it?"
Kai grinned. "Your lucky baseball bat."
"The David Seaman bat?" Kevin nodded thoughtfully. "Sure, I can lend it to you."
Then, pausing, he tilted his head and asked, "Did someone mess with you too?"
Kai blinked. That… might be one way to put it. Close enough. He nodded.
Kevin bolted across the hall to his room and returned moments later, proudly handing over a bat.
"I'm lending you my courage. If they're bothering you, just give it to them hard! Ever since last time, no one's dared mess with me." He clenched his small fists. "You got this!"
Kai laughed and took the bat.
Just as he turned to leave, Kevin looked up curiously. "Who's it for? Someone from the first team?"
Kai just patted his head and walked off without answering.
...
The next morning, Kai was up early again for his run.
He followed the usual country path toward the hill. A thin sheen of sweat clung to his skin—he was pushing harder these days.
Carrying more weight had its toll. But he didn't mind. Some things had to be sacrificed. Strength was essential, and physical power was non-negotiable in his role.
Billy's house was the typical countryside setup—two stories with a low warehouse off to the side.
Thanks to their farm, the warehouse was packed with all sorts of things. And it reeked of manure. No one went in there willingly—except Billy.
Which is why Billy never bothered to lock it. Kai could slip in easily.
Inside, the warehouse was a chaotic mess—feed buckets, tools, cookware, all jumbled together. And that smell! It made Kai gag.
"Ugh, what a dump," he muttered, covering his nose.
After rummaging around, he finally found a corner where some old sacks were piled up. One was cleaner than the others, though still pretty gross.
He used a wooden stick to fish it out and laid it out in the sun, hoping the smell would fade.
After a deep breath outside, he returned to the house.
Once washed up, he stuffed the sack into a plastic bag, tightly sealed it, and peeked down to see the baseball bat handle sticking out just slightly.
All set, he took off for the training ground.
...
[Training Ground, Arsenal Training Centre, London]
The atmosphere at the training center was noticeably tense.
Kai, on the other hand, acted like nothing happened. Business as usual.
Wenger had adjusted the schedule—no training match today, just basic drills. Yesterday's events had surprised him.
Throughout the day, eyes followed Kai and Park Chu-young.
Park's expression was full of disappointment—likely something Wenger told him.
Kai stayed the same as ever.
Bit by bit, the team got to know Kai better. He wasn't exactly hot-headed, but you didn't want to cross him.
And on the pitch, Kai was a warrior—relentless, fearless. That's the impression he left.
People like that don't just take insults lying down.
The coaching staff had been nervous too, half-expecting retaliation.
But it didn't come.
Kai trained with quiet focus. No drama. Eventually, everyone moved on.
...
Around 3 p.m., training wrapped up.
Pat found Kai and said, "Same time today?"
Kai shook his head. "No extra session today."
Pat blinked—this was the first time Kai ever turned it down. But thinking back to yesterday, he nodded. Fair enough.
Kai grabbed his things and headed toward the locker room.
At the same time, Chamberlain was rounding up the first-team players, whispering something to each.
Soon, the team was buzzing, eyebrows raised.
Kai was the first to exit. But instead of heading right toward the exit, he went left.
One by one, the players emerged, hurriedly making their way out.
Shortly after, cars began pulling out from the underground lot.
...
A street behind the club.
Arteta parked his car, stepped out, and peered through the fence.
From there, he had a clear view of the parking lot entrance.
Chamberlain had passed on a message: "Get out quick. Preferably drive away. Kai's orders."
No one knew what was going on, but they listened.
It did feel like something was about to go down.
Arteta, concerned, didn't leave. He leaned against his car, frowning slightly.
Suddenly, the roar of another engine.
A black Audi S5 pulled up. Van Persie stepped out.
"You too?" Arteta asked.
Van Persie gave a half-smile. "I'm the captain, after all."
"You know what he's planning?"
"No clue."
More engines. More cars pulling up—Walcott, Mertesacker, Arshavin, Szczesny, Ramsey… all players close to Kai.
They looked at each other.
"Here to watch the show?"
Van Persie narrowed his eyes. "You're just here for the drama, aren't you?"
Walcott replied slyly, "We're worried about Kai."
Van Persie rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure you are."
Szczesny added, "I walked into the locker room after him. Saw a baseball bat sticking out of his bag."
Everyone froze. Then slowly turned to look at Van Persie.
The captain.
"What?" he snapped. "Why're you looking at me?"
No explanation came, and the group sighed.
"Park Chu-young just went in," Arteta noted.
They fell into a ten-minute silence.
Finally, Kai appeared.
He walked calmly, bat in hand, dressed neatly—no signs of a fight.
But he looked intense.
"Where's he going?" Walcott asked, eyes wide.
Under everyone's gaze, Kai didn't head home.
He turned and strode straight toward the office building.
"What's he doing now?" Van Persie groaned.
No one could figure Kai out anymore.
If he was up to something… why walk straight into the lion's den?
Was this… a confession?