Martin Hughes turned out to be a genuinely kind man. He continued to show Le Kai around, patiently introducing him to Arsenal's facilities and history. Martin was easy to talk to, as long as you didn't mention that person. The two chatted comfortably, and Le Kai learned quite a bit about the current squad and club dynamics.
After lunch, they parted ways.
Le Kai headed straight back to the training ground to continue his afternoon session. It was the same drill from that morning: weaving through training poles. His goal? Cut his time to under nine seconds—cleanly, without touching a single pole.
Monotonous as it was, this kind of repetition built greatness. There were no shortcuts.
As he circled the poles over and over, he noticed small improvements. His feet responded faster, his movements tighter.
His ball control was coming along.
Back when he played as a centre-back or defensive midfielder, he hadn't needed elite ball skills. His job had been to win possession and get the ball to the playmakers.
Now, as a midfielder, he needed more. He had to hold the ball under pressure, turn quickly, and break free from challenges.
A midfielder who can't protect the ball? That's just asking for trouble.
Well... unless you're a very special case.
He threw himself into the training. The sensation of growing sharper with each round gave him a quiet thrill.
Unbeknownst to him, Pat Rice—the assistant coach—was once again observing from the sidelines, arms crossed, expression unreadable. After a while, he turned and walked away.
By evening, Lucky finally called it a day. He glanced at the poles, then checked his timer.
8.99 seconds.
A faint smile touched his lips. Progress.
The sun was dipping below the horizon when he packed up the equipment, showered, and prepared to walk home.
Just outside the gates, he spotted Billy's car parked by the curb.
Billy beamed. "Surprise!"
Kai laughed. "Nice to see you, Mr. Billy."
Billy chuckled. "How was training today?"
"Productive." Lucky shrugged, a modest grin on his face.
The two hopped into the car for the ride home.
"Want to take a stroll through London?" Billy offered. "First time here and all."
Le Kai shook his head. "Thanks, but I've got a heavy training schedule. Can't afford to waste time."
"Good lad," Billy said with a grin and gave him a thumbs-up. "Hard work, that's what I like to see."
As they drove, Billy started sharing some quirky Arsenal stories and fan gossip. Lucky couldn't help but laugh along.
Billy's passion for the club was infectious—and a little overwhelming. Kai silently hoped he'd live up to the expectations of fans like him.
When they got home, Elena welcomed him warmly again.
She praised the breakfast he'd made earlier and brought out a feast. This time, she also included a specially prepared low-fat meal.
"Figured I'd stop teasing you," she said with a wink. "Can't have our rising star weighed down."
Kai smiled gratefully. "Thank you. It looks great."
After their now-familiar "Fabregas prayer," they dug in.
Over dinner, they chatted about everything from English history to Chinese culture. Kai shared what he could, and Billy's curiosity lit up.
Soon, Billy was on a tangent about kung fu.
When he explained, with a straight face, that the legendary 'iron body' didn't exist and was just a movie fantasy, Billy looked genuinely disappointed.
Unable to resist, he added, "Well, maybe try your luck at the Shaolin Temple."
Billy then struck a few exaggerated martial arts poses with loud 'wah-wah-wah' sound effects. Laughter erupted around the table.
Their bond grew a little stronger that night.
...
The next day was bright and clear.
Just like before, Le Kai stretched thoroughly before beginning his pole training. Yesterday, he'd barely cracked the 9-second mark. Today, he wanted more.
He launched into the drill, and immediately felt it—his movements were more fluid, more connected. His footwork was becoming sharper.
That feeling of control brought a quiet sense of joy.
Then, mid-break, he felt eyes on him.
He looked up.
There, just outside the fence, was Pat Rice.
The old man stood motionless, head slightly tilted, watching with a frown.
Again?
Before Kai could speak, the assistant coach strode over, picked up a ball, and said, "Watch closely."
He demonstrated—left foot touch, sharp right-foot swipe near the pole, a subtle shift of the hips.
Then he barked: "Use your core to shift your center of gravity, not your shoulders! Are you trying to signal the defender where you're going, lad? Keep your shoulders steady, or you'll be read like a book!"
He gave Kai a light tap to the stomach. "Here! Core! That's what you move with!"
He nodded, absorbing every word. He took his position.
"Try it," Pat said, arms folded, expression stern.
Kai ran the drill again, this time mimicking the technique. His form was decent, but as he sped up, his coordination faltered.
"Faster!" came the barked command.
He picked up speed, but it got sloppy. He dialed it back slightly, trying to find balance.
Pat checked the timer and said dryly, "10.12 seconds. Nice form, but speed-wise, a snail would be proud."
Kai laughed. "That was my first go. Don't worry, Coach."
Pat grunted, then said, "You've got fire. But talk's cheap. From now on, move with my claps."
"Aye, aye, Coach."
Pat began clapping—slowly at first, then gradually picking up pace.
He matched each round, body tense, coordination tested to the limit.
Ten rounds later, he collapsed onto the grass, gasping. His calves ached, ankles were stiff.
Pat crouched beside him, pressing on his legs. "Muscles are too tight. Stretch more. Flexibility is just as important as strength."
Then he lifted Lucky's jersey slightly, checked his midsection, and nodded. "Good core development."
He stood up. "Report to the equipment room tomorrow at seven. No breakfast. The cafeteria will have something special for you."
As the coach walked away, he stared at the sky with a big grin.
"Martin was right. The guy's a tough one… but he knows his stuff. No pain, no gain."