"Six years went by before I noticed it," Arsène Wenger said quietly to Wilshere.
Wilshere pressed his lips together and said nothing.
Wenger paused, then spoke again. "You know what I'm about to say."
Wilshere's shoulders shook. His breathing broke. A low, broken sound escaped his throat.
He was crying.
He had joined Arsenal's academy at sixteen. He grew up here. Even on loan, this club was home.
Now, Wenger was asking him to leave that home.
The thought hurt. He could not accept it.
"Coach…"
Wilshere looked up. His eyes were red. Tears kept falling.
Wenger raised a hand. "You know me. You know how I work."
Wilshere opened his mouth, then lowered his head again.
"You have two options," Wenger said calmly. "The summer window is still open. You can find a club and leave now."
He paused.
"Or you finish the final year of your contract. Then you leave on a free."
Wenger's tone stayed even. That made it worse.
Wilshere said nothing.
Wenger did not rush him.
After a long silence, Wilshere wiped his face. He seemed to have accepted it.
"I need time," he said.
Wenger nodded. "Then it will be a free transfer."
Wilshere nodded. He stood up and walked out without looking back.
Wenger watched him leave before slumping into his seat, muttering.
"Sometimes I hate my job."
. . .
Wilshere entered the locker room.
It was loud. Chamberlain was joking around. The mood was loose.
Chamberlain bumped into him by accident.
"Watch it!"
Wilshere shouted. The sound froze the room.
Everyone turned.
Wilshere kept his head down. He went to his locker, shoved his stuff into his bag, slammed the door, and walked out.
Silence followed.
Chamberlain frowned. "What was that about?"
Kai noticed it too. Wilshere looked off. Whatever Wenger said was serious.
Still, Kai did not dwell on it. They were not close.
That evening, Kai went home.
He showered and trimmed his beard. It had grown thick. Flamini's product worked well.
As he finished, the doorbell rang.
Kai opened the door.
Ma Fanshu stood outside in sportswear, holding a bento box.
"Look," she said, lifting it slightly. "You must be hungry."
Kai blinked. "It is about time to eat."
"I made it for you," she said, glancing inside. "Are you not going to invite me in?"
Kai stepped aside.
She walked in.
She was not here for work this time. She looked relaxed and lively. At work, she always felt more serious.
She placed the boxes on the table and opened them one by one.
"Chicken breast with light dressing. Buckwheat noodles for carbs. Broccoli for fiber," she said. "What do you think?"
Kai raised an eyebrow. "You cooked all this?"
She nodded. "Strict low-calorie plan."
Kai coughed softly. "Thanks for the meal. But athletes need energy, not just low calories. This looks like a pre-match dinner."
Ma Fanshu smiled. "Perfect timing. You play Manchester City tomorrow."
Kai nodded. "Then this works."
He pointed to the last box. "And this?"
She smiled with confidence. "The highlight."
She opened it.
Cucumbers, scallions, vegetables, and a dark sauce in the center.
"Northeast dipping vegetables."
Kai's eyes lit up. "This I can eat."
"Sit down. Try it."
Kai ate quietly.
She talked now and then. The atmosphere softened. The distance faded.
When he finished, she stood up to leave.
"Thanks for dinner," Kai said.
"You're welcome."
He hesitated. "In the future—"
"Alright. I'm going," she said, turning away.
Kai scratched his head and closed the door.
Outside, Ma Fanshu exhaled deeply. She wrinkled her nose and whispered, "I will not give you the chance to say no."
Opportunities are taken.
So are partners.
She had faith in her timing.
Kai went back inside and noticed the lunch box under the dining table.
It sat between the chair and the wall, half covered by a seat cushion.
It did not look intentional.
Kai assumed she simply forgot it and did not dwell on it.
. . .
The next day, Kai arrived at the training base.
The locker room buzzed with noise. Players talked about the match. The mood carried quiet tension.
Kai chatted with a few teammates.
Arsène Wenger walked in and looked around. "Where is Jack?"
No one answered.
Players exchanged glances.
"No one has seen him?" Wenger asked, frowning.
Heads shook.
Wenger waved a hand. "Alright. Everyone on the squad, get on the bus. We are leaving."
The team boarded one by one.
They were heading to Manchester to face Manchester City away.
London to Manchester was just over two hundred and fifty kilometers. The trip took about two hours. Arsenal left in the morning and arrived around noon.
After checking in and resting briefly, they went to the stadium to prepare.
The Etihad was already alive.
Since winning the league, Manchester City had changed. They were no longer just another Premier League side. They were contenders, even if not yet a true giant.
This match would be difficult.
City had lost to Arsenal before. They knew how strong this team was.
Beating Arsenal was no easy task.
Still, at home, City would push with everything they had.
The starting lineup was announced.
Navas in goal.
Sagna, Mustafi, and Koscielny at the back.
Flamini and Cazorla in midfield, with Kai.
Suarez up front.
Kai partnered with Flamini again.
Kanté had impressed, but Wenger stayed cautious.
Mustafi had waited a full season for his place. Wenger trusted patience more than momentum.
Kai pulled on his shirt and shorts. He adjusted his socks, slid in his shin guards, and tied his boots tight.
He picked up the captain's armband and wrapped it around his arm. He gave it a small tug to check if it held.
Kai stood up and clapped his hands.
"Alright. You ready?"
"Ready."
"Ready."
"Let's go, Cap."
Energy filled the room.
Kai smiled, raised his arm, and said, "Let's take control."
"Arsenal on three. one. Two. Three."
The room answered together.
"ARSENAL!!"
. . .
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