Arsenal fans had gone a little over the top lately.
Their new chant echoed everywhere — "Goal! Champions League!" — shouted openly in the streets, as if the objective for the season had already been written in stone.
Champions League.
The Sun and other various unsavory tabloids' reports hadn't just stirred discussion; they had planted a dream.
A dream Arsenal supporters had longed for, yet never truly dared to believe in.
Since the club's founding, Arsenal's history stretches back over a century: League titles, domestic cups, plenty of silverware. In England, they were unquestionably a giant.
Yet for all that stature, there was one hole in their legacy.
They had no Champions League.
Not even the Cup Winners' Cup triumph softened that absence — it had come before the competition's reform and carried little weight in modern Europe.
In recent years, Arsenal's honours have been confined to domestic success. On the continental stage, they had never truly arrived.
It was a quiet, enduring ache for their supporters.
The closest they ever came was the 2005–06 season — their one and only Champions League final.
And there, they ran into Barcelona.
Then came the turning point.
Twenty minutes in, Jens Lehmann was sent off.
A red card.
Just like that, the dream collapsed.
From that night on, Arsenal fans buried their desire for Europe's biggest prize. They wanted it desperately, but no longer dared to say it aloud.
Because the team wasn't ready.
But now, watching the Gunners slowly claw their way back, hope had returned — cautiously at first, then with growing intensity.
Once that fire caught, it spread uncontrollably.
If Arsenal fans were dry wood, then The Sun had tossed in a spark.
And it burned.
Yet despite the noise outside, the club itself remained silent.
No statements. No confirmation.
Only headlines.
"Champions League~~~!"
Arsène Wenger lowered the newspaper slowly. The headline was impossible to miss:
Arsenal's Goal? Champions League?
Kai sat across from him, his expression faintly uncomfortable. He hadn't expected a single offhand remark to spiral into this kind of frenzy.
If anyone was to blame, it was The Sun and co.
He'd let something slip — and they'd run with it.
"Professor?" Kai said carefully.
Wenger's eyes sharpened as he looked up.
"What do you think about the Champions League?"
"Huh?" Kai paused, caught off guard.
Still, he answered honestly.
"For a player, it's one of the highest honours there is."
Wenger nodded.
"For the club as well. And for me."
Kai hesitated, then asked quietly,
"Are we really not going for it?"
After all, they'd reached the semi-finals last season. With more experience, more maturity… maybe this time was different.
Wenger smiled faintly.
"Do you want to go for it?"
Kai nodded without hesitation.
"Yes."
The smile stayed.
"Then go for it."
Kai blinked, clearly surprised by how direct the answer was.
"However," Wenger added, his tone firming slightly, "you tell no one. Until things are clear, this conversation stays between us. If it gets out, I'll deny it."
Kai nodded immediately.
"I understand."
"And be careful with the media," Wenger continued. "No interviews for a while."
Kai gave an awkward smile.
So this was the price.
"Alright," he said.
"Go," Wenger waved him off. "Train."
As Kai left, Wenger slowly clenched his fist.
"Champions League…"
. . .
Out on the training ground, something felt off.
The players were running drills, passing, shooting — yet their attention kept drifting toward the entrance. Every few moments, someone glanced over, as if waiting for confirmation of a rumour.
Then they saw him.
Kai.
The reaction was instant.
"Captain!"
"Kai!"
"Cap!"
They crowded around him, eyes bright, faces tense with hope — as if the answer to everything stood right in front of them.
Kai looked around at the crowd and said calmly,
"So… what do you all want from me?"
Cazorla scratched his head with a sheepish grin.
"What did the gaffer say?"
Kai raised an eyebrow slightly.
"What do you think he'd say?"
"…About the Champions League?" Cazorla asked.
As soon as the words left his mouth, everyone nodded — in perfect unison. Although they have been screaming for it for a while, Wenger hasn't given his view.
Kai chuckled and looked at them.
"You want the Champions League?"
They nodded again.
This time, much faster. No hesitation at all.
Kai shrugged.
"Sorry to disappoint. We talked about other things."
A wave of disappointment flickered across their faces, though a few players still stared at him stubbornly, unwilling to let it go.
"However…"
Kai deliberately dragged the word out.
Hope immediately returned to their eyes.
"It's not impossible," Kai said, his tone steady. "I know what you want. You want the Champions League. You want to make history. You want to be part of something that actually lasts at this club."
He paused, scanning the group.
"But let me be honest with you — this isn't something you get by shouting slogans."
"Right now, no matter how loud we shout, to some teams and some people, we're just noise. Just clowns."
"For them, Arsenal has no Champions League. And when we talk about it, they think we're delusional and retarded."
A few players bristled.
Kai saw it and nodded.
"Of course, there are doubts. But doubts don't disappear because you're annoyed."
He raised his voice slightly.
"They disappear when you show results."
"Just like now — you're all trying to get something from me, or from the Professor. I get it. But words don't mean anything."
"Only when we actually do it — or at least show real signs that we can — will anyone take us seriously."
Kai looked each of them in the eye.
"So instead of trying to squeeze news out of my mouth, train harder. Stay sharp. Stay ready."
"Then tell everyone the answer with facts."
He clenched his fist tightly.
"What we want."
"What we're going to take."
Then he pointed around the group, his voice firm.
"Who are we?"
"ARSENAL!"
A quiet fire seemed to ignite in their eyes, spreading slowly from one player to the next.
Kai clapped his hands sharply.
"Alright. Training intensity goes up today."
"If you want something great, you pay a greater price."
"Understood?"
"UNDERSTOOD!" everyone shouted.
"Forty sets of shuttle sprints. Any problems?"
"No problem!"
"Good. Go! Go! Go!"
The Arsenal players threw themselves into training with renewed energy.
Off to the side, the coaching staff watched, smiling.
Lehmann grinned.
"This atmosphere…resembles the team back then."
Colbert, the fitness coach, nodded.
"I believe in this group."
Pat Rice smiled lightly.
"Alright then. Time for us to get involved."
Colbert stepped forward, shouting as he walked.
"Alright, lads — ready to suffer?"
"YES!"
"Navas, with me! Reaction speed!"
"Forwards, shooting drills — now!"
At that moment, everyone at Arsenal felt the same pull.
Nothing was said aloud.
But the goal was clear in every heart.
Champions League.
When training finally ended, players collapsed straight onto the grass.
Everyone was exhausted.
The fire from earlier was still there — but now mixed with dizziness and heavy breathing.
"This… doesn't continue tomorrow, does it?"
"Probably not?"
"I'm actually going to throw up…"
"Your stamina's just rubbish."
"Rubbish? Ramsey was dry-heaving too!"
"…."
They lay scattered across the pitch, completely spent.
Pat Rice walked over, smiling far too calmly.
"From now on, this kind of training will happen every week. Get used to it."
A collective groan followed.
Still, faint smiles crept onto their faces.
It was brutal — but they could feel themselves improving.
That alone made it worth it.
"One more thing," Pat continued. "From now on, all meals will be taken at the training base. Your diets will be fully customized."
Everyone nodded.
Most of them were single anyway — eating here or at home made no difference.
"And finally," Pat said, his tone firming, "we're officially entering a no-alcohol period. No drinking until the end of the season. Anyone caught will be punished."
"You all know exactly what kind of punishment that means."
They glanced toward the substitutes nearby, who suddenly looked a little too eager.
The starting players turned away immediately.
Not a chance.
After the meeting ended, the coaches finally dismissed them.
Their bodies were exhausted.
But their faces were bright, satisfied, and full of purpose.
. . .
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