Arsenal fans' chants about the Champions League had quickly become a talking point across the UK.
Some people welcomed the optimism. Others scoffed at it. And plenty openly mocked it.
Aside from a small group of believers, most observers still felt Arsenal were nowhere near winning the Champions League.
History was the reason.
Arsenal often performed impressively in the league, but once the stage shifted to Europe, things tended to unravel. Their usual rhythm disappeared, confidence dropped, and form suffered badly.
Over time, those repeated disappointments earned them an unflattering label in the eyes of many — Bottlers.
Even in the season they reached the Champions League final, few truly believed they would lift the trophy.
Compared to serial winners like Real Madrid or Manchester United, Arsenal were seen as lacking that hardened, championship mentality.
And that kind of mentality could only be forged one way.
Results.
Trophies.
Until Arsenal proved it on the biggest stage, the doubts would never disappear.
. . .
"That lot in North London are just jealous," Billy said with a snort, leaning back in his chair. "Their European record's awful, yet they're still barking like that. Honestly, it's embarrassing."
He drained his beer in one go, wiped his mouth, then added irritably,
"And now United fans are calling us delusional. As if their current form is anything special."
Meadows shook his head.
"You care too much about what other people say. Just ignore it."
"I can't," Billy replied, clearly annoyed. "We've got the ability. Why can't we say it out loud?"
Meadows hesitated before responding.
"But every time we get optimistic, the club's history reminds us what happens in big games."
Billy sighed, clearly thinking the same thing, then waved it off.
"Still… I believe this team can write a new chapter."
"Because of Kai?" Meadows smiled faintly. "I know you rate him, but he's only just become captain. He's not exactly the most iconic one we've had."
"He will be," Billy said firmly. "I'm certain of it. He's got something different — a presence no Arsenal captain before him had. He'll lead us to history. We'll lift the Champions League trophy together."
Meadows didn't argue.
Billy's faith in Kai was absolute.
He didn't quite understand it, maybe because he lived with Kai for a while, but Billy spoke as if Kai were Arsenal's answer to everything.
Objectively speaking, among Arsenal's many captains over the years, Kai wasn't the most accomplished — at least not yet.
Henry. Vieira. Those were towering figures.
But Kai was still young, and unlike the legends before him, his ceiling felt limitless.
Meadows wanted to believe.
But he'd been disappointed too many times before. Keeping expectations low had become his way of protecting himself.
Right now, Arsenal were doing well.
They were competitive in the league and looked closer to their old selves again.
But in the Champions League…
Meadows fell silent and let out a slow sigh.
Outside the pubs and living rooms, fans continued chanting, hoping their passion would be acknowledged by the club.
Arsenal, however, remained quiet.
No statements. No declarations.
That was only natural.
The season had barely begun, and even Arsenal wouldn't openly declare a Champions League ambition — especially without ever having won it.
Meanwhile, Kai's personal social media accounts were flooded with messages.
Some offered encouragement.
Others tried to pry for inside information.
Rivals bantered and mocked.
Kai didn't respond to any of it.
In this atmosphere, the chants became little more than emotional release, something rival fans and media were happy to ridicule.
Arsenal supporters were used to that.
Celebrate when you want — but when it comes to competition, reality still matters.
. . .
On August 27th, Arsenal faced Chelsea in the Community Shield.
Traditionally played between the Premier League champions and the FA Cup winners, the Community Shield began as a charity fixture. While now officially recognized, it still carried limited prestige.
Neither Arsenal nor Chelsea seemed particularly invested.
Still, both clubs showed respect to the occasion.
They fielded strong lineups.
The tempo, however, was noticeably relaxed. Compared to the intensity of league or European matches, this felt more like a controlled warm-up.
It was about testing systems rather than winning at all costs.
Arsenal began rotating players early, experimenting with new combinations. Chelsea did much the same, making multiple substitutions before halftime.
With six substitutions allowed — double the usual number — the Community Shield often functioned as a pre-season extension.
On the touchline, both managers sat calmly.
Even when goals were conceded, neither showed much reaction.
Composed. Unbothered.
By halftime, the scoreboard read 3–3.
And no one on either bench looked surprised.
The scoreline remained tight, but it was clear that both sides had slightly different priorities.
If you win, great.
If you don't, it's hardly a disaster.
Throughout the first half, Kai's performance was consistently impressive.
Especially after N'Golo Kanté came on, Arsenal's midfield gained even more balance. Kai became increasingly involved in the attacking phase, using his vision and passing to continuously create opportunities.
With Kai anchoring and supporting the build-up, Cazorla was given far more freedom.
As a result, Cazorla's display stood out.
In terms of pure spectacle, his performance was even more eye-catching than Kai's. For viewers without a tactical background, it was easy to overlook Kai's influence, while Cazorla's repeated dribbles, sharp turns, and command of the final third dominated the eye.
But for experienced fans, the picture was very different.
They could clearly see that it was Kai who had been quietly dismantling Chelsea's defensive structure — slicing lines with his passing and delivering the ball into the most dangerous areas.
If Cazorla's performance felt explosive and aggressive…
Then Kai's was like a steady current — calm, precise, and relentless, supplying the front line with exactly what it needed.
On the sidelines, Arsène Wenger watched with clear satisfaction.
Since the World Cup, Kai's development in attack had been one of the most pleasant surprises for the coaching staff.
That evolution was vital for Arsenal.
Once they controlled the midfield, the entire team played with greater ease and confidence.
Even when matched against Lampard and Chelsea's experienced midfielders, Kai still asserted himself — and that dominance was perhaps the most striking aspect of the half.
José Mourinho was watching as well.
And he was watching Kai.
About ten minutes into the first half, Mourinho let out his first sigh.
Then another.
Every time Kai intercepted a pass, broke pressure, or threaded a clean ball forward, Mourinho's expression tightened.
Chelsea had tried — repeatedly — to sign him.
They had explored every option.
Even the buyout clause had been put on the table — a figure capable of shaking the transfer market.
And yet, they still failed.
What you cannot have always seems perfect.
Mourinho had worked with Fabregas, Lampard, and many outstanding midfielders.
Yet none of them fully embodied the system he envisioned.
Whenever he mentally rehearsed his ideal tactical setup, one image always appeared.
Number 4.
In blue.
But it wasn't Fabregas.
Black hair.
Strong frame.
Able to split defences with a single pass — and build a defensive wall in midfield.
No matter how hard he tried to suppress the thought, the image kept resurfacing.
He's the perfect fit.
The missing piece.
The key to proving yourself again.
Get him.
Get him.
(T/N: José, you need help🤣)
"Dog shit…"Under the confused gaze of his assistant, Mourinho shut his eyes and rubbed his temples, forcing the thoughts back down — at least for now.
. . .
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