Pat Rice folded his arms and looked at Kai.
"Every dribble you see on a football pitch comes from the most basic ball control techniques. La Croqueta starts with simple touches using the inside of both feet.
The Elastico begins with controlling the ball using the outside of the foot.
Fancy moves might look special, but they're all built on the same foundation. Technique, repetition, match experience, and ball mastery. Those are the real fundamentals of dribbling."
After finishing his explanation, Rice pointed toward the line of training poles.
"Get into position. Slalom training."
Kai blinked.
"Again?"
Patrice snorted.
"I told you already. Every advanced technique grows out of basic skills. You think your slalom is good? Santi could embarrass you using one foot."
Pat walked over to the poles and demonstrated.
"From now on, use the same foot all the way through. Push the ball with the outside of your foot, hook it back with the instep, and keep a consistent touch rhythm."
"What kind of rhythm?" Le Kai asked.
"Everyone's rhythm is different," Pat replied. "You can't copy someone else's. Fast or slow doesn't matter. What matters is controlling the timing."
Kai still looked confused.
Patrice sighed.
"It means reading your opponent. Watch the position of his supporting foot. The moment his center of gravity settles, that's when you attack. That's timing."
Le Kai pointed at the poles.
"Then this drill is pointless. The poles don't have a center of gravity."
"Just train!"
Pat barked.
"Stop arguing about every little thing."
Kai raised his hands in surrender and walked to the starting point.
" You know I am telling the tr–"
Kai didn't land his word before a football was heading his way.
"Chill, Pat. Anger is not good for your health." Kai said, laughing, only to the exasperation of Pat Rice.
The drill soon began.
Outside touch.
Instep hook.
Outside touch.
Instep hook.
The ball danced between the poles as he tried to maintain the entire sequence using only one foot.
Beside him, Patrice kept clapping.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
The rhythm was relentless.
Pat Rice wanted every touch synchronized with the rhythm.
At first, Le Kai couldn't keep up at all.
His feet were either too fast or too slow. His touches became rushed, and the ball frequently drifted away from his intended line. By the time he completed the first run, he was nowhere near the required standard.
Surprisingly, Pat Rice didn't criticize him.
"Go back."
That was all he said.
Kai nodded and immediately started another run.
His left and right feet were relatively balanced, but that balance mostly came from shooting and passing practice. Deep down, his dominant foot was still his right.
Using his right foot felt natural for dribbling.
Using his left was a completely different story.
The rhythm became awkward.
His speed dropped noticeably.
As the repetitions piled up, tension accumulated in his left leg until a numb sensation spread through the muscles. Ten runs later, Le Kai collapsed onto the grass.
He lay flat on his back, breathing heavily while repeatedly punching his calves with both fists. The high-frequency movements had turned his legs into two stiff wooden sticks.
Grimacing, he muttered,
"I don't remember slalom training being this miserable."
In truth, his slalom ability was already excellent by ordinary standards.
Back in school, he would have scored full marks in any football agility test.
Pat Rice answered by shoving several youth academy training videos directly in front of him.
Le Kai watched in silence. The players in the footage moved through the poles with frightening precision. Their feet barely seemed to touch the ground.
Every outside touch and every hook of the ball happened at incredible speed.
The rhythm never broke.
Compared to them, Le Kai suddenly looked less like a professional footballer and more like an enthusiastic amateur.
"See the difference now?" Patrice asked.
Le Kai didn't reply.
Patrice pointed at the screen.
"This is your target for the holiday."
Le Kai stared at the video, his mouth opening slightly.
For the first time, he realized this holiday might be tougher than an entire season.
But giving up had never been part of his personality. After resting for a few minutes and shaking the stiffness out of his legs, he pushed himself back to his feet.
"Again."
Without waiting for instructions, he returned to the starting line. The rhythmic clapping soon echoed across the training ground once more.
The summer break had begun.
Most of London Colney was quiet.
Yet one corner of the training complex remained alive from morning until evening, filled with the sounds of passing balls, rapid footsteps, and Patrice's relentless commands.
Meanwhile, inside Arsenal's administrative offices, another battle was taking place.
A transfer officer sat across from team manager Martin Hughes, reading through a growing stack of reports.
"We've accepted Liverpool's offer for Chamberlain. He'll leave the club next season."
"Paris Saint-Germain has increased its bid again. The fee has already exceeded fifty-eight million euros and could break sixty million. Di Maria is interested, but he's made it clear that he'll only push for the move if the offer goes above sixty million."
"Barcelona is still pursuing Suarez. Their latest proposal stands at sixty-seven million euros. We have no intention of accepting it, and Suarez himself has no desire to leave."
"Bacary Sagna has informed us that he won't renew his contract. He wants a transfer. The club respects his decision."
"Our one-year agreement with Rio Ferdinand has expired. Whether we offer a renewal depends on Arsene Wenger's decision."
"Kieran Gibbs is willing to sign a one-year extension."
"Santi Cazorla's new contract is ready and awaiting his signature."
Each report made Martin Hughes' headache worse.
He rubbed his temples and leaned back in his chair.
Ever since Arsène Wenger had stepped away from daily operations, Martin had become the link between the legendary manager and the club.
Now he finally understood how exhausting Wenger's managerial job had been.
"David, stop."
Martin raised a hand.
"I think we've both earned a coffee and a short walk."
David immediately nodded.
After delivering transfer reports for nearly an hour straight, his throat was completely dry.
"Best idea I've heard all day."
A few minutes later, Martin returned with two cups of coffee.
The pair stood beside the office window.
Martin pushed it open.
A cool summer breeze drifted into the room, carrying with it the distant sounds of footballs being struck and Pat Rice's unmistakable shouting from the training pitches below.
"Are you stupid? Watch your touch rhythm! I told you to move the ball quickly, not hop around like a f**king kangaroo!"
Patrice's furious roar echoed across the training ground.
A moment later, an aggrieved voice answered back.
"You keep saying rhythm this, rhythm that. How?"
"Find it yourself!"
Pat pointed at him and shouted.
"Feel it! Keep searching until you find it!"
"Then stop yelling at me!"
Smack!
Patrice kicked the calf of Le Kai's leg.
"Keep talking, and I'll kick your butt, too. Move!"
The holiday training ground, which should have been deserted and quiet, had become unusually lively because of the two of them.
Yet somehow, the constant shouting wasn't irritating.
Standing by the office window, Martin Hughes and David listened to the distant exchange with smiles on their faces.
"Our captain is training again."
David took a sip of coffee and chuckled.
Martin leaned against the window frame.
"He's the type who can't stay idle. A complete training addict. On the first day I picked him up, he wanted to go straight onto the pitch and train."
"I remember that day," David laughed. "It was absolutely pouring."
Martin nodded.
"Our captain isn't afraid of rain."
David looked toward the training pitches.
"Doesn't he ever get tired?"
Martin shrugged.
"Who knows? Maybe he does. But some players know exactly where their weaknesses are. Once they find them, they can't stand sitting around. Every spare minute becomes an opportunity to improve."
David slowly nodded.
"He's a captain people can trust."
Martin smiled.
"Yes. No matter what happens, he's always worthy of that trust."
"Honestly," David said, "whenever I see Kai, I feel relaxed. Even when the club is facing difficult problems, as long as he's on the pitch, I feel secure."
Martin chuckled.
"He's practically Captain Fantastic."
David raised his coffee cup.
"Exactly. Fantastic."
The two men shared a laugh before turning their attention back to the training field.
Meanwhile, the supposedly fantastic captain was lying flat on his back in the grass. His legs felt completely detached from his body.
Pat Rice's holiday training program was bordering on torture.
With no matches to worry about, the coach seemed determined to squeeze every last drop of energy out of him.
"Rest for a minute!"
Le Kai raised a hand weakly.
"Get up!"
Pat immediately rejected the request.
"You can rest, but you don't lie down."
Groaning, Le Kai forced himself upright and sat on the grass.
Pat crouched beside him and began massaging his calves, loosening the tight muscles.
After a while, he spoke.
"Compared to last season, your foot frequency has improved a lot."
Le Kai looked relieved.
Then Patrice added:
"But your understanding of timing is still poor."
The relief instantly disappeared.
"So how am I supposed to learn feints properly?" Le Kai asked.
"You have to grind experience through matches."
Patrice answered without hesitation.
Le Kai rolled his eyes.
"There aren't any matches right now."
"That's why I'm making you train."
Patrice squeezed his calf muscles firmly before continuing.
"You need to engrave these movements into your body. Turn them into instinct. When the same situation appears in a match, your body should react before your brain even starts thinking."
He pointed toward the slalom poles.
"The purpose of this holiday isn't to turn you into Messi overnight."
"Good," Le Kai muttered. "I was worried about that."
Patrice ignored him.
"The goal is familiarity. I want your body to become comfortable with these movements. Once the season starts, you'll naturally perform them when opportunities appear."
He paused briefly.
"Do you know why players spend thousands of hours repeating the same drills?"
Le Kai nodded his head.
"You were supposed to shake your head, not nod." This brought a laugh from Kai and Pat. "Anyway, the reason is that repetition creates confidence. If you've performed a movement ten thousand times in training, you won't panic when the moment arrives in a match."
Pat tapped his own temple.
"The first successful dribble is always the hardest. After that, everything becomes easier."
Le Kai thought for a moment before voicing another concern.
"But my speed isn't exceptional. My acceleration isn't explosive enough to leave defenders standing still."
Pat Rice smiled.
"How does Pirlo play?"
Le Kai blinked.
"What?"
"How does Pirlo play? How does Xavi play?"
Pat Rice continued.
"Are they fast?"
"No."
"Explosive?"
"No."
"Then why could they dominate games?"
Pat Rice pointed at him.
"Because you're thinking about dribbling the wrong way."
"A midfielder's job isn't to dribble for the sake of dribbling."
"Dribbling is only a tool."
"To create space."
"To break a defensive line."
"To improve a passing angle."
"To attract pressure."
"To buy half a second of time."
He drew a line in the air with his finger.
"The dribble itself is never the destination."
His gaze became serious.
"The real question begins after you've beaten the opponent."
"What pass can you make?"
"What attack can you launch?"
"What advantage can you create for your team?"
Pat Rice stood up and pointed toward the slalom course again.
"Remember this."
"A winger dribbles to beat people."
"A midfielder dribbles to change the game."
Kai looked at the poles in front of him.
Suddenly, the drill no longer seemed quite as boring as before.
"Now stop staring into space," Pat Rice barked.
"Back to work."
With a pained expression, Le Kai pushed himself to his feet once more.
The clapping resumed.
The shouting resumed.
And under the bright summer sun, Arsenal's captain continued building the skills he hoped would take his game to another level.
. . .
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