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Chapter 187: The Top Floor Of Arsenal
🕑 Added 2025-10-13 13:06:10 +0000 UTCAfter qualifying for the Champions League quarterfinals, there was a visible lift in the Arsenal squad — especially in their confidence.
Aggressive. Sharp. Relentless — both in attack and defense.
When defending, Arsenal still operated with Kai as the anchor in midfield. But his influence stretched far beyond that.
He was also a spark.
Still, with his exceptional reading of the game and ball-winning ability, Arsenal couldn’t afford to lose Kai’s presence on the defensive end. He had to focus there first.
Even so, his creative side was beginning to shine through. Despite sitting deep, Kai was orchestrating attacks with clever passes, often threading long balls through tight spaces or switching play with precision.
He didn’t venture forward too often, but whenever he did, the opposing midfield felt uneasy — more nervous about him than even Cazorla.
Cazorla was a one-man weapon with magic in his feet.
Kai, though?
He was a moving turret — controlling rhythm, directing traffic, and shaking up entire halves of the pitch with a single pass.
With Kai behind them, Arsenal’s front line — Cazorla, Suarez, and the rest — looked reinvigorated.
And as some joked, “If Kai could attack like this at Bayern, we’d win everything.”
…
On the sidelines of the training pitch, Wenger watched Kai’s flourishing attack with mixed feelings.
It was like holding a royal flush and not being able to play it.
“Get in touch with Caen again,” he told Pat Rice quietly. “I want N’Golo here this summer. No delays.”
He knew he needed someone to share Kai’s workload.
Kanté’s tackling and recovery instincts were exceptional — not as refined as Kai’s yet, but good enough to take pressure off Kai when he pushed forward.
With a double pivot of Kai and Kanté, Wenger saw a new version of Arsenal forming in his mind — one that could finally compete for Europe’s top prize.
But, of course, that depended on the transfer going through smoothly.
At the back, there were encouraging signs too.
Koscielny and Mustafi were starting to form a surprisingly solid partnership.
Wenger had initially signed Mustafi as backup — Mertesacker’s form didn’t warrant replacement — but the chemistry between the two younger defenders was undeniable.
When Mertesacker played, his aerial dominance was an asset, but it also forced Koscielny to cover wide spaces, leaving gaps.
Mustafi’s presence changed that.
Both were quicker, more proactive, and under Szczęsny’s command, the back line looked more cohesive.
Of course, losing Mertesacker meant a noticeable drop in aerial strength, but that could be fixed through rotation.
Mustafi deserves a start soon, Wenger remarked. Let’s see what he can do.
That chance would likely come in the next Premier League fixture.
After all, the following match was away to Tottenham — and no one at Arsenal needed reminding how important that was.
…
Kai was in the medical room for his routine check-up.
After last season’s injury, both he and Wenger had become cautious. Every precaution was taken to make sure he didn’t break down again.
Team doctor Gary O’Driscoll examined him carefully, finally nodding with satisfaction.
“Excellent,” he said. “Your flexibility training has paid off. The ligaments are strong — more than enough to handle your workload.”
Kai exhaled in relief. He didn’t want to become one of those players who spent more time in rehab than on the pitch.
Gary added, smiling, “One thing though — no more heavy physical sessions. You’re strong enough already. Add too much muscle, and you’ll lose your flexibility. You don’t want to turn into a bodybuilder, do you?”
Kai chuckled. “No worries, Doc. I’ve already cut back on the gym work. The old man’s got me focusing on footwork drills now.”
Gary raised an eyebrow. “Ah, Wenger’s touch. That must hurt.”
Kai grinned. “It does — but in a good way.”
Footwork training wasn’t glamorous — just endless short-step drills that left his legs burning. By the end of each session, he could barely feel them.
Still, he pushed through, knowing it was the price of control.
Thankfully, it only happened three times a week.
As soon as Kai stepped out of the medical room, a staff member stopped him.
“The boss wants you in his office,” he said.
Wenger was already walking ahead, and Kai quickly followed.
“What’s this about?” Kai asked.
Without turning, Wenger replied, “The owner wants to see you.”
Kai blinked. The owner?
That meant only one man — Alisher Usmanov, Arsenal’s Russian billionaire.
And that, he knew, couldn’t be a casual chat.
This owner had always been something of a mystery to the players — a man who poured money into Arsenal but rarely, if ever, showed his face.
Within the club, only a handful of people had actually met him. Among them were Wenger and Pat Rice.
When the two men stepped into the office building and took the elevator up, Wenger didn’t speak. The elevator ascended quietly until it reached the very top floor — a level that required a special access card.
It was said that this floor belonged exclusively to the Arsenal owner.
Ding!
The doors slid open, and Wenger led Kai out.
The first thing Kai noticed was the floor — soft, almost cloudlike under his boots. The entire level was carpeted with a thick cashmere rug, and sunlight streamed in from four sides through vast floor-to-ceiling windows. The temperature was perfect, neither hot nor cold, just... balanced.
Wenger guided him toward a large, ornate screen that divided the room. It was an ebony carving with intricate patterns.
A well-dressed woman stood near the doorway and nodded politely.
“Mr. Usmannov is waiting inside,” she said, and led them beyond the screen.
The inner space was even more traditionally styled. Two elegant armchairs faced each other across a small wooden coffee table. Sitting on one of them was a round-faced man, calm and composed — Alisher Usmanov, Arsenal’s owner.
Usmanov was sipping tea from a porcelain blue-and-white cup, the kind with a matching lid and saucer. One glance told Kai it was definitely tea — the whole scene looked straight out of a crime boss movie.
When he saw the two enter, Usmanov rose and greeted Wenger warmly before turning to Kai with genuine curiosity.
“Well, well, who do we have here?” he said, smiling broadly. “Our captain! Finally, we meet.”
Kai shook hands and replied, “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Usmanov.”
The respect in which he was addressed made Usmanov’s eyes crinkle with delight.
“Take a look around!” Usmanov said, gesturing proudly. “I even had a few Chinese-style pieces brought in.”
Kai forced a polite smile. He wanted to tell him that his place back home didn’t have ornate screens or antique armchairs — but he appreciated the gesture.
So instead, he replied, “I really like it here. It does feel quite familiar.”
Usmanov laughed heartily, clearly pleased. He gave Kai a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Good! Come, let’s sit and have a chat.”
A secretary quickly brought another chair, and the three sat down — Wenger and Usmanov opposite each other, with Kai between them.
Perhaps to make things feel less formal, Usmanov moved the coffee table slightly so that it sat evenly between them — a subtle gesture of equality.
Kai didn’t think too much of it. What mattered to him was why the boss had called them here.
