In the conference room, Wenger and his coaching staff had reconvened.
This ti, the agenda was clear: uncover the reason behind the team's sudden transformation.
Wenger sat at the head of the table, lightly tapping a pen against the wood. "Can anyone explain what's behind this shift?"
The coaches exchanged puzzled glances.
Just then, he noticed his long-ti assistant, Pat Rice, intently scanning a docunt. Pat's expression lit up as if he'd just stumbled upon buried treasure.
Wenger raised an eyebrow. "Pat, did you find sothing?"
Every coach turned to look. Curious.
Pat glanced up and chuckled at the expectant faces. "I think we're overcomplicating it. There's no need to elevate this to so tactical innovation."
"The tactics haven't changed," he continued. "But sothing asurable has."
The room leaned in. "What kind of data?" soone asked.
Pat held up a finger. "Distance covered."They had been racking their brains for days, but no one could pinpoint it.
The squad was essentially the sa, just one new player, Kai. But could one addition cause such a dramatic change?
Was it just Kai?
That didn't make sense.
Football is a team sport—eleven n on the pitch. No matter how exceptional one player is, he shouldn't be able to affect things on this scale.
And yet, they all felt it: Kai was the catalyst.
So the question beca—what exactly is this guy doing?
He slapped the table, grinning. "This isn't about strategy or formations. It's about work rate. They're running more."
He walked over to the tactical board and placed eleven red markers in a 4-2-3-1 shape.
"Here's our previous attack setup," he explained, nudging the front four markers forward and sliding one up from the defensive midfield.
"Five attackers push forward. Quick passing, movent, aiming to break the opponent's lines."
He pointed to the central area and the back line. "anwhile, the back pushes up to shield this zone."
"That gives us offensive density up front—but leaves us vulnerable at the back."
Then he rearranged the markers.
The five forwards were still there, but now, there was an extra piece near the center circle, and the defenders stayed deeper in a stable arc.
He picked up that extra red marker. "This represents Kai. When we're attacking, Kai stays here, patrolling this area. Constantly moving—constantly. His positioning and anticipation are so sharp that he protects the zone even when he's not actively making a tackle."
"He's not just holding ground—he steps up during attacks as well. His presence in this space acts like a gate. If the opponent counters, he becos the first line of defense."
Pat started pulling back markers from the wings and midfield.
"As soon as Kai slows the play, the others react. Arshavin, Walcott, Ramsey—all of them sprint back, full tilt."
He repositioned the markers into the box.
"Suddenly, we've got eight players in the defensive third. That's a wall. No one's breaking through that without serious effort."
The room fell silent, stunned.
All this... from running?
"What's the average distance they're covering per match?" Wenger asked.
Pat shook his head. "I haven't tracked the full match yet. But in just the second half, both Kai and Ramsey ran close to 7 kiloters."
A hush fell over the room.
The Premier League's highest single-match record? 14.05 kiloters.
And these two had nearly hit that in half a match.
Which ant… they could be surpassing that number entirely.
Football, after all, is a running ga. Offense and defense both rely on movent.
It's such a basic idea that everyone had forgotten it.
"We couldn't execute this setup before," Pat continued. "Because we weren't working for it."
"Song would push forward too often, too aggressively, and wouldn't track back. And when your defensive mid is slacking, the wingers stop caring too."
He swept his gaze across the room.
"Laziness is contagious."
"And Song just doesn't fit this system. He doesn't have the defensive instincts or the sheer will to fight and chase like Kai does and he is more attack focused leaving behind gaps for exploitation."
"In my opinion, effort and heart are just as valuable as technical skill—if not more."
He looked to Wenger, who gave a quiet, approving nod.
Wenger had begun to shift. The idealist who once chased technical perfection was now forced to evolve, pushed by results and circumstance.
Wenger, deep in thought, rubbed his temples. His mind ran in circles—it seed it was ti to change his ways.
...
Later that day, training wrapped up. The players left the pitch in much better spirits than usual.
Despite the recent humiliation, there was new energy among them.
Even Van Persie, usually grim-faced, showed a hint of a smile.
The scrimmage had gone well.
Kai, in particular, had begun earning respect from the senior players.
He was no longer ignored.
Walcott, Ramsey, rtesacker, Szczesny—several players made a point of talking to him, showing interest, even camaraderie.
Not everyone was pleased, though.
Alexander Song wore a solemn expression. The changes Kai brought to the team threatened his role.
Frustration and anxiety showed in his eyes. Without a word, he shook his head and walked away.
Van Persie tried to diate, but Song brushed him off.
The captain's effort to bring peace fell flat, leaving him slightly frustrated.
Still, Van Persie had words of praise for Kai.
Those two long passes today—pinpoint, difficult, and perfectly tid.
Had he reacted faster, he might've scored two goals himself.
It wasn't about training match results. What mattered now was whether Kai could replicate that vision in real gas.
Suddenly, Van Persie had options. Artillery delivery was no longer a one-man show.
Kai finished packing up and was ready to leave.
He noticed that Chamberlain had vanished.
Since the loss, the young man had been downcast. He still hadn't shaken off the trauma after even having a one-on-one conversation with him.
It wasn't sothing Kai could fix. Chamberlain would have to find his way forward.
Instead of heading to the main gate, Kai turned toward the fence and scaled the wall.
There were still angry fans waiting out front.
So players had already left by car without issue.
But Kai was alone, wearing club colors—and he wasn't keen on testing the mood of disgruntled supporters.
Getting mobbed wasn't on his agenda.
So over the wall he went.
Better safe than sorry.
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