"The ninety minutes are up, and Chelsea have edged past the reigning Premier League champions Arsenal to claim the first trophy of the season," Martin Taylor said. "A seven-goal game ends 4–3, and José Mourinho picks up his second piece of silverware since returning to Chelsea."
Alan Smith chuckled lightly beside him.
"You wouldn't call it a classic, Martin, but there were moments. Both sides treated it more like a test than a final."
Off mic, Martin stifled a yawn.
To be fair, it hadn't been a particularly gripping watch.
Everyone knew neither side truly needed the Community Shield. It was more of a formality.
That said, there were flashes of quality along the way.
Chelsea ultimately came out on top, 4–3.
After the final whistle, players from both teams exchanged handshakes. There were no wild celebrations, no dramatic reactions. It was, after all, only a community trophy.
Arsenal, despite the defeat, looked calm.
Kai moved along the line, shaking hands with Chelsea players.
"Congratulations."
He met John Terry first. The two exchanged brief pleasantries — polite, professional, nothing more.
Lampard followed. They spoke for a moment, a few quiet words, before Kai noticed Mourinho approaching.
"You played very well," Mourinho said, extending his hand.
Kai smiled and shook it.
They shared a brief, courteous embrace before Mourinho moved on.
Kai flexed his fingers slightly afterward.
That handshake had been firm — almost too firm.
Strange, he thought. A Champions League–winning manager getting this intense over the Community Shield?
He didn't dwell on it.
Soon after, Kai returned to the touchline for a short interview.
"Chelsea played well. They deserved the win," he said calmly. "For us, the match highlighted areas we still need to improve, step by step."
He shrugged lightly.
"All in all, an exciting game."
A few knowing smiles appeared among the reporters.
Everyone understood what it really was.
A warm-up.
Kai waved, thanked them, and headed back inside.
In the dressing room, reactions varied.
For the regular starters, the result meant little.
But for the substitutes, it mattered.
Matches like this were opportunities — rare chances to prove they deserved more minutes, maybe even a starting place.
Some had impressed.
Others… hadn't.
Oxlade Chamberlain was one of them.
His performance was difficult to describe.
Not terrible — but far from convincing.
And that was the problem.
Three seasons at Arsenal. Three seasons as a substitute.
Yet he still struggled to fit into the system.
That was hard to justify.
Chamberlain sat silently in the corner, a towel pulled over his head, staring at the floor.
Kai noticed him and let out a quiet sigh.
He had tried to help Chamberlain more than once, guiding him through positioning and movement, but nothing seemed to click. As the system evolved, Chamberlain grew increasingly lost.
Maybe… it was time for a change.
Kai shook his head and headed for the showers.
That night, Chelsea's Community Shield win dominated the British headlines.
Early-season football rarely offered much else — no major controversies, no transfer drama.
But before the night was over, another story exploded.
. . .
In the early hours of the morning, Kai was fast asleep when his phone rang.
Half-awake, he silenced it and turned over.
Moments later, it vibrated again.
Kai groaned, rubbed his eyes, switched on the bedside lamp, and grabbed the phone.
"Who is it? Do you know what time it is?"
Caller ID: Billy.
That immediately caught his attention.
"Billy?" Kai answered. "You'd better have a very good reason."
"I'm sorry," Billy said quickly. "I really do."
His voice was shaking.
Kai sat up straighter.
"What happened?"
There was silence.
Heavy breathing.
It sounded like Billy was wrestling with himself.
Nearly thirty seconds passed before he finally spoke, his voice unsteady.
"You're… you're not leaving Arsenal, are you?"
Kai blinked, completely confused.
"What?"
Why would anyone call at this hour to ask that?
"Why would I leave Arsenal?" Kai said, baffled. "What are you talking about?"
Billy's words spilled out in a rush.
"A reporter broke a story. Chelsea are supposedly ready to trigger your release clause — one hundred million pounds. He even got hold of your contract. The numbers match."
"There are even rumours about big signing bonuses for you."
Billy swallowed hard.
"I trust you. I do. But there is a lot of money to earned if…"
His voice cracked.
"I just need to hear it from you," Billy said urgently. "You'll stay, right? You're our captain. You're not going to leave Arsenal… right?"
Kai, now fully awake, spoke first, his voice steady.
"Don't worry. I'm not leaving Arsenal. I promise you that," he said. "As for the report — I won't lie to you, but you need to keep this to yourself. It's true Chelsea made the move… and I turned it down."
"…You turned it down?"
The voice on the other end suddenly lifted, followed by a loud creak — as if someone had jumped up and landed hard on the floor.
"That's one hundred million pounds!" Billy exclaimed, his tone instantly brighter.
Kai chuckled softly.
"It's not about the money. And right now, I really need to sleep. I've got training tomorrow."
"Oh—oh—oh!" Billy hurriedly replied. "Sorry, sorry! Go to sleep. I won't be the idiot who ruins your mood. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone — I swear! As long as you don't leave us, that's all that matters! Damn it, that filthy reporter… alright, sleep! Sleep!"
The line went dead.
Kai stared at his phone for a moment and shook his head helplessly.
Then his expression sharpened.
He immediately dialed another number.
"I was just about to call you," came the reply.
The background was loud — airport announcements echoing over the line.
"The contract's been leaked," Barnett said quickly. "I'm on my way back to London now. I'll go straight to the club tomorrow morning. We'll meet there."
"Alright," Kai replied.
"Until then," Barnett continued firmly, "say nothing. No statements. No media contact. And don't make any promises to the club — not even to the Professor."
"I understand."
"Good. I'll see you tomorrow."
The call ended.
Almost immediately, the phone rang again.
"Kai, it's me."
Martin Hughes' voice came through.
Kai stayed silent.
"Kai, trust us," Martin Hughes said urgently. "We only found out about this ourselves. We don't know how the contract details were leaked, but I promise you — we'll investigate it thoroughly."
Kai finally spoke.
"How are the fans reacting?"
There was a pause.
"…Not well," Martin Hughes admitted bitterly. "Since nine o'clock, comments have been flooding the club's official channels. People are panicking."
Kai gave a dry smile.
"The transfer window's still open. Of course they are."
"So… we may need to do something," Martin Hughes said carefully.
This kind of contract leak was the last thing he wanted — especially if it damaged trust between the club and their captain.
Ideally, Kai would step forward, clarify the situation, or at least help calm the supporters.
But Martin Hughes also knew that silence was often the smartest move.
They needed Kai — but they couldn't force him.
Just as he was waiting anxiously for a response, Kai spoke again.
"I'll do it."
Martin Hughes froze.
"…You will?"
"I'll help settle the fans," Kai said calmly. "I'm Arsenal's captain. That's part of my responsibility. I won't let something like this distract us in such an important season."
For a brief moment, Martin Hughes didn't speak.
Then his voice rose, tight with emotion.
"That's my captain. Trust me — I'll find the bastard who leaked this, and I'll make sure he pays."
Kai laughed softly.
"That sounds a bit ruthless," he said jokingly. "I don't want you in jail."
. . .
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