"Why are we in the second tier?"
Sanchez dropped into the seat beside Le Kai, still in his training gear, legs crossed, one foot bouncing with restless energy. His expression carried a hint of irritation.
"I can accept that Real Madrid and Bayern are top tier," he said, glancing toward the screen. "But we've been playing well. Perfect record. That should count for something, right? At least enough to put us up there."
He shook his head. "This whole classification isn't even official."
Le Kai let out a quiet sigh, eyes drifting for a moment before rolling back toward Sanchez. Fans had put this together for fun, and yet here it was, being picked apart like a serious ranking.
Still, he did not completely disagree with it.
The first tier had Real Madrid and Bayern Munich. That made sense. Titles, consistency, recent dominance. No argument there.
Barcelona had slipped this season. For a team once labeled a dream side, the drop in performance stood out more than it should have. That disappointment alone pushed them down a level.
Juventus fell into a similar space. Strong history, solid structure, but not quite at the same level of authority as the very top.
As for Arsenal, being placed in the second tier was already generous. No Champions League title. Too many failures at key moments over the years. That reputation lingered, no matter how well they played now.
Even if Arsenal surged this season, many would still hesitate to call them European giants; English giants, yes, but to be called a European powerhouse needed UCL titles.
That was the part that bothered Le Kai the most.
He leaned back slightly, exhaling.
Let this season be different.
"Here we go!"
Up front, Cazorla's voice cut through the room.
Every head turned toward the television as the Champions League quarter-final draw began. The atmosphere tightened instantly.
No protection from familiar opponents. Anyone could be next.
"Not Bayern or Barcelona," Chamberlain muttered, hands clasped together.
Then louder.
"Not Bayern or Barcelona."
Again.
"Not Bayern or Barcelona."
Le Kai's jaw tightened. "Stop that."
Chamberlain ignored him, repeating the words under his breath like a ritual.
The first team was drawn.
A red crest appeared on the screen.
Arsenal.
Silence.
Le Kai slowly turned his head toward Chamberlain, eyes narrowing, his look sharp enough to start a fight.
Chamberlain only doubled down, voice rising.
The guest reached into the bowl again.
Le Kai swallowed.
A blue crest followed.
Paris Saint-Germain.
A collective exhale filled the room.
Relief, immediate and visible.
Not an easy opponent, far from it, but compared to the alternatives, this was manageable.
Even Wenger's shoulders eased slightly. With the opponent decided, preparation could begin.
He dismissed the players soon after.
. . .
Back in his house, Le Kai barely sat down before dialing Wang Yi.
"I knew you'd call," Wang Yi said, a faint smile in his voice.
Le Kai laughed. "Looks like we're facing each other."
A pause.
"I might not play," Wang Yi replied.
Silence settled between them.
Le Kai knew the situation. Contract issues, tension with the club, and minutes disappearing week by week.
"Don't think too much about it," Wang Yi added. "Just keep going."
Le Kai nodded, even though the other man could not see it. "You too."
They ended the call.
The next morning, Arsenal returned to training.
Before players could enter the training grounds with their cars, the fans were already there in numbers. Banners raised, voices loud, energy spilling over the barriers.
Champions League.
Preparation began almost immediately. Wenger wasted no time, gathering the team and stepping up to the tactics board.
"Paris Saint-Germain," he began.
Le Kai fixed his eyes on the board.
PSG had changed rapidly in recent years. Investment had transformed them, turning ambition into something far more aggressive. The squad was filled with talent, assembled with a clear goal in mind.
Under Laurent Blanc, they found balance.
Paris Saint-Germain achieved a balance between offense and defense, making them an excellent team.
Yet Blanc's time in Paris always carried a sense of inevitability.
He delivered trophies. He met most expectations on paper. Still, he was dismissed, even after winning the league. To many, it felt harsh. To others, it was predictable.
Le Kai leaned toward the second view.
Nothing was technically wrong, but something was missing. The club's ambitions had outgrown stability. The ownership wanted dominance in Europe, not just control in France. The UEFA Champions League was the real target.
Paris spent heavily to accelerate their rise. They wanted recognition, authority, and a place among the elite. Blanc's approach, built on balance and caution, did not fully align with that goal. In tight European games, where moments decide everything, his team often felt contained rather than decisive.
That gap cost him.
He left, and Unai Emery arrived at the Parc des Princes.
Even so, Blanc's PSG remained a serious opponent. Their two-legged win over Chelsea proved that much.
They were steady. Disciplined. Reliable.
But also limited.
No overwhelming attack. No impenetrable defense. Just control.
Some described it more harshly. They were a Swiss Army Knife with no outstanding qualities.
For Wenger, the key was obvious.
Midfield.
Control of rhythm lives there. PSG relied on players like Adrien Rabiot, Yohan Cabaye, and Blaise Matuidi. All well-rounded, all disciplined, none dominant in a single aspect.
That made them reliable, but also vulnerable to disruption.
Wenger stepped forward, voice firm.
"We break their rhythm. They want the ball, so we take it forcefully. We speed the game up, move it quickly, force them out of their structure."
He paused, scanning the room.
"I trust you. You are better than them."
The reaction was immediate. Shoulders straightened.
Then Wenger shifted the focus.
"Before that, we handle the league."
Arsenal sat top of the Premier League with 71 points, built on a 22-5-1 record. Right behind them, Chelsea matched them on points with 23-2-3.
No margin for error.
Manchester City followed with 68 points. Close enough to punish any slip.
The pressure was constant.
Rotation had done its job earlier in the season. Squad players carried the load when needed. Now that phase was over.
This was the stretch that defined everything.
April approached, and with it came the decisive run. Every match carried weight, and every mistake had consequences.
For the players, the objective was clear.
Champion League.
For the fans, it was not so simple.
Premier League or Europe.
The title they could almost touch, or the one they had chased for years.
Both felt possible.
That was the problem.
Wanting both meant risking everything. If it failed, there would be nothing left to show for it.
And yet, the idea of choosing one over the other felt just as difficult.
. . .
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