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Chapter 36: Between The Lines
🕑 Added 2025-05-15 16:06:27 +0000 UTC“Hey, there is a rumour going around that the captain’s leaving,” Chamberlain said in a whisper.
In the nearly empty locker room, Chamberlain and Kai were changing after finishing an extra training session. The rest of the players had already gone.
Kai didn’t look up. “Doesn’t matter to us. We just need to train hard.”
Chamberlain looked frustrated. “How can you say that? It’s Van Persie!”
“So what?” Kai replied, finally turning his head.
“He’s Van Persie! He’s been brilliant this season. If he stays, next season—”
Kai raised a hand to cut him off. “You mean Arsenal can’t survive without him, right?”
Chamberlain opened his mouth, then lowered his head with a sigh. “Yeah. If he renews his contract, we’ll have a real shot next season.”
“And if he leaves?”
Chamberlain sighed again. “Then it’s a disaster.”
Kai knew exactly what was going through Chamberlain’s mind—what everyone at Arsenal was thinking.
The truth was, Arsenal had become too dependent on Van Persie this season. If he left, the team would be lost. And more importantly, it would mark the departure of their second captain in two years—a huge blow for the club.
“Don’t dwell on it,” Kai said, waving his hand dismissively. “We can’t control any of that. Just focus on doing our jobs.”
And that was the truth. They had no power to stop Van Persie from leaving. Kai thought that maybe, if he were a core player with some real influence, he could try to persuade him to stay.
But right now, Kai was just a fringe player. Even if he said that, Van Persie would probably think he was being rude.
Even though there were obvious signs that Ferguson’s health was failing, people always believe what they want to believe.
And Van Persie wanted to believe in a move to Manchester United—to chase European glory under Sir Alex Ferguson. Everything else, he could easily ignore.
As Kai and Chamberlain exited the locker room, a familiar figure walked toward them.
Short-cropped hair, thick beard—it was Jack Wilshere, the Arsenal Prince, back from injury.
Wilshere had come through Arsenal’s youth ranks. In the early days, he’d played behind Fabregas and had even competed against Xavi and Iniesta once at the peak of Arsenal’s midfield. But his career had been riddled with setbacks, and he returned now to a very different Arsenal.
Because of his homegrown status, fans had pinned their hopes on him. But over the years, Arsenal fans had learned to shift their expectations quickly—Arteta, Walcott, Vermaelen, even Wilshere. As long as someone showed promise, they were ready to believe.
Unfortunately, none of them really lived up to it.
Wilshere, once a prince, had become a fallen one.
“Hey! I saw you today. You were brilliant, mate.” Wilshere called out, grinning as he walked up to them.
Kai and Chamberlain exchanged glances.
Wilshere was in an odd place within the team. He had talent and fan support, but he lacked real influence in the locker room. The established players didn’t see him as a leader, and even the benchwarmers weren’t especially drawn to him.
Kai felt the same, but didn’t show it.
“We were just heading home,” Kai said.
Wilshere nodded. “Want a lift?”
He wanted to build rapport with his future teammates.
Kai shook his head and politely rejected. “No thanks. We live nearby.”
“Alright,” Wilshere said with some regret. “Well, that's a pity. See you around.”
Chamberlain replied. “Same too.”
Kai nodded at the goodbye.
Wilshere finally headed off.
Once he was gone, Chamberlain muttered, “Nice guy.”
Kai nodded.
...
Outside the training base, Kai said goodbye to Chamberlain and jogged off, bouncing the ball along the pavement, fully focused on his footwork.
Suddenly, a loud car horn blared right next to him.
Startled, Kai lost control of the ball. It shot left, straight toward a muddy drainage ditch.
Thinking fast, Kai hopped sideways and flicked the ball with the outside of his foot just in time. He caught it again with his shoulder, cradled it with both hands, and turned with a frowning face toward the car.
A man had just jumped out of the driver’s seat.
“Sorry! I’m really sorry—I got too excited!” he said in fluent Chinese.
Kai blinked, surprised.
The man was dressed in a black polo and jeans, a press badge swinging from his neck.
“I’m a journalist,” he said quickly. “Chinese. Just like you.”
Kai gave him a wary look. What was this guy on about?
The reporter laughed awkwardly. “Name’s Zheng Xin. I’m from CCTV Sports, covering the Premier League. I saw your debut. You were great!”
Kai cracked a small smile. “Thanks. Still lots to improve.”
Zheng Xin wasn’t letting it go. “You shut down Townsend all by yourself. Three steals, four interceptions, two clearances, 90% passing rate, one key pass, and an indirect assist. It was a top-class debut.”
Kai scratched his head, a bit embarrassed having his stat line regurgitated in front of him.
“Would you mind a short interview?” Zheng Xin asked.
Kai hesitated. “I’m not allowed. The club’s strict—no media contact at this stage.”
Zheng Xin waved his hands quickly. “It won’t be official. No video, no direct quotes. I’ll write it in third person. You can even have my credentials—I could be fired if I break the rules. You can report me if anything goes wrong.”
Kai studied him for a moment, then shrugged. “Alright. Let’s just chat.”
It was nice meeting another Chinese face in a foreign land.
They sat in the car. Zheng Xin used only a pen and a notebook—no recording devices.
The conversation lasted an hour. Zheng Xin learned about Kai’s journey, and Kai got a glimpse into the lives of other Chinese players abroad.
There were around 20 in total across Europe. But only a few stood out:
Wang Yi in Ligue 1 with PSG.
Chen Man in Portugal with Porto.
Fernando Kairui with Atletico Madrid in La Liga.
And he, in the Premier League with Arsenal.
Of the four, the others were regular starters. Kai was still a bench player, with more modest expectations.
“Actually,” Zheng Xin said, “your move to Arsenal was somewhat noticed back in Portugal. But Wang Yi scored 15 goals that season—he took all the spotlight. Still, after your debut, a lot of Chinese fans started rooting for you. But you haven't played since. People are losing their patience. Some are calling for Wenger to play you more.”
Kai laughed. “What can I do? It’s crunch time now—points matter more than anything. Subs don’t get many chances.”
Zheng Xin nodded. “Yeah, the commentators explained that, but fans don’t care. They saw a Chinese player finally break into a top team and kill it in his debut. Of course, they want more. By the way, has Wenger told you anything about your next match?”
Kai shook his head. “Not yet. Maybe if we secure our spot in Europe, I’ll get another chance before the season ends.”
“What about next season?” Zheng Xin asked eagerly.
Kai chuckled. “Still the bench, most likely.”
