Dinner looked sumptuous.
Cheese-grilled chicken drumsticks, sizzling steaks, juicy wings, and Elena's secret fish and chips—it was a feast. As he looked at the table, Lucky finally understood why Billy and Elena were both on the plump side. Compared to them, Kevin looked like a twig.
Billy uncorked a bottle of whisky, poured himself a generous glass, tapped his fork against his plate, and said cheerfully, "Tonight, we welcome the newest member of the Arsenal family—Le Kai, a young lad from far away. Here's to a happy life in the UK!"
Le Kai raised his glass of water and replied, "Thank you."
Elena smiled warmly. "We hope you shine on the field, dear."
"Thanks," Lucky nodded again, more reserved.
Kevin, a little shy, lifted his soda. "Hope you have fun here," he said.
Le Kai gave a small bow. "Thank you, Kevin."
Billy laughed heartily. "Well then! Let's officially welcome Kai to the happy Billy household. Time for grace!"
He clasped his hands, and the others followed suit. Lucky, unsure of the ritual, mimicked their posture.
Then Billy growled, "Son of a bi—"
And in perfect unison, Elena and Kevin finished: "—Fabregas!"
Lucky froze, blinking in disbelief. That's the prayer? The three of them were already smiling at him expectantly.
He let out a dry laugh. "Bi... tch. Fabregas, son of a bi... tch."
So this is grace in the Billy household?
Delighted, the trio dug in with gusto.
Elena kept piling more food onto Kai's plate, but the heavy, oily dishes weren't to his usual taste. As a professional athlete, he was strict with his diet. Still, it was a welcome dinner, and refusing would be rude. He did his best.
After the meal, Kai took a quick shower and went to bed early.
Outside, the storm raged on. He lay staring at the ceiling, thoughts churning about the road ahead.
Eventually, he sighed and muttered to himself, "I will cross the bridge when I get there... Forget it. Rest first."
He turned over and fell asleep.
...
The storm had passed by morning. The sun was out, and the air smelled fresh and clean. Dressed in his gym clothes, Lucky stepped outside, stretching deeply. As he bent backward, he noticed Kevin watching him from the attic window. He waved with a grin.
Startled, the boy bolted like a frightened rabbit.
Lucky chuckled to himself and started jogging. A short distance from town, he reached a trail that wound up a quiet dirt path. After half an hour, he made it to a hill, where an incredible view unfolded before him
He knelt, drank water from his bottle and doused some on his face. The cold rush washed away some of his doubts.
He took a long breath, eyes closed.
A world-class central midfielder…
Kai licked his lips, grinning at the thought.
...
By the time he returned, it was already 8 AM. The household was still asleep.
In the kitchen, he whipped up a simple low-fat breakfast, ate his share, and left a note for Billy. Throwing on his training bag, he headed out again—this time for the Arsenal training ground.
Billy had promised him a ride, but after all that whisky, Kai doubted he'd be waking up anytime soon.
Luckily, the training center wasn't far. Jogging there served as a warm-up. Thanks to years of disciplined youth training, his stamina was top-notch. Among all his traits, physical endurance was what Kai prided himself on most.
Soon, the Arsenal crest came into view.
Inside the training base, he found the locker room, changed, and stepped onto the field.
The league wouldn't start until August, so the training ground was empty. Perfect for some solo practice.
Honestly, Lucky wasn't sure if his current skills were Premier League material. He didn't have a fancy system rating his stats.
After thinking for a bit, he grabbed a few training poles from the equipment shed.
Pole work—it was basic but essential. It trained ball control, balance, and quick movement.
Kai wasn't particularly strong in this area, which made it the perfect place to start.
He set ten poles, two meters apart.
Timer in hand, ball at his feet, he took position. Then hit the button.
"One!"
"Two!"
"Three!"
…
"Nine!"
"Ten!"
He stopped the ball, panting. The poles were still wobbling slightly.
Looking at the timer, it read 9.12 seconds.
He stared at the sky. Not bad… but not good enough.
Again.
Under the blazing sun, a lone figure danced around the poles on the green field. Sweat soaked his shirt, ran down his chin, and dampened his hair.
He stripped off the wet jersey, wrung it out, and pulled on a dry one before continuing.
Time slipped by.
Before he realized it, the entire morning was gone.
Exhausted, Lucky collapsed to the grass, breathing hard. When he glanced up, he spotted a figure standing beyond the fence.
It was the old man from yesterday—Pat Rice, Arsenal's assistant coach.
The man stood still, eyebrows perpetually furrowed. He studied Kai silently.
Lucky raised a hand awkwardly in greeting.
Pat Rice snorted, turned, and walked away without a word.
Lucky dropped his arm and muttered, "Grumpy old man."
Then he went right back to training.
...
By lunchtime, his stomach growled in protest. He remembered the club had a cafeteria. Hopefully, it was open during the off-season.
Following the signs, he arrived at the third floor of the admin building. It was the staff cafeteria, filled with employees. Wearing his Arsenal training gear, Kai felt out of place but was too hungry to care.
He lined up and endured the curious stares, piled his plate with low-fat options, and found a quiet corner.
He was halfway through when a familiar voice called out.
"Why are you here?"
Lucky looked up to see Martin Hughes smiling at him.
"Training hard, I see," Martin said, eyeing Lucky's soaked jersey.
"Yeah," Kai replied, swallowing. "Grab some food?"
Martin laughed. "This is the staff canteen. The players eat elsewhere."
Kai blinked. That explains the weird looks.
"I didn't know," he admitted.
"No worries," said Martin. "The players' cafeteria isn't open during the off-season anyway. You're fine here."
He took a seat across from Kai.
"How's the training going?"
"Still working on the basics," Kai said with a wry smile.
Martin nodded thoughtfully. "You'd make faster progress with a coach's guidance. I suggest talking to Pat Rice."
He hesitated. "Isn't he the assistant coach? He must be busy."
Martin shook his head. "Wenger handles the big picture—tactics, strategy. Pat's the one who drills you."
"I see…" Kai murmured, surprised.
As they talked, he learned that Martin worked under the team manager's department, handling player support.
"The club's issued a recall," Martin added. "The squad will be returning soon. You'll get to join team training."
He paused and sighed.
"It's going to be a tough season."
Arsenal had lost Fabregas, their midfield core. Samir Nasri was gone too, transferred to Manchester City. Alex Song was good but inconsistent. Mikel Arteta had potential, but he wasn't quite the answer.
"What about Van Persie?" Kai asked softly.
Van Persie—the legend of the 2011/12 season. He was a one-man goal machine, the reason Arsenal remained among the Premier League's top four this year.
But this was also the season before it all fell apart. The Gunners were nearing the end of an era.
And he was about to step right into it.