Another training match, and once again, Kai found himself on the substitute team.
Even though his performance with the main squad had been comndable, Wenger couldn't keep him there all the ti, especially with Alex Song waiting eagerly on the sidelines.
At this stage, Kai wasn't considered an imdiate asset in competitive terms, and Wenger needed Song's experience and stability to maintain the team's continuity.
More importantly, managing Song's ntality was crucial.
Wenger had even spoken to Song personally to reassure him of his importance to the team, and that conversation seed to settle him.
The price for that stability, however, was that Kai hadn't trained with the main team for over two weeks.
Kai didn't complain.
He wasn't the type to argue. Instead, he trained quietly and diligently.
It wasn't yet his mont to shine. But when the opportunity ca, when Song was gone and that defensive midfield spot opened up, Wenger would turn to him.
So he trained. Hard. For the future.
The main team's form had been improving steadily, particularly Van Persie, who was entering one of his unstoppable streaks.
Kai tried marking him a few tis but simply couldn't keep up.
Van Persie was in form—quick, decisive, and lethal.
Another effortless lob and another goal. Van Persie grinned as the ball hit the back of the net.
He had been scoring consistently lately, topping the scoring charts.
Kai got up from the turf and shook his head, helplessly amused.
Then, a signal ca from the coaching staff.
Arshavin swapped sides to join the substitutes, and Park Chu-young stepped into the main team.
Kai glanced at the South Korean striker.
When Park shook hands with Arshavin, Kai noticed him bowing politely. That earned a chuckle from both him and Arshavin.
Cultural habits, perhaps—but still, the gesture was endearing.
The ga resud.
Arshavin had a good impression of Park. Few players showed that kind of respect, and Park's manners were sincere.
Feeling flattered, Arshavin smiled as Kai passed the ball to his feet.
Over the past few months, Kai had started trying to organize attacks during training.
Wenger hadn't stopped him—on the contrary, it seed he approved.
With little link-up play happening elsewhere, Kai took it upon himself to practice his distribution from midfield.
Of course, he was still far from Arteta's level, but this was a step forward.
As Arshavin took the ball and began to move, a sudden warning rang out:
"Behind you!"
Before he could react, Arshavin was taken out with a harsh sliding tackle.
He hit the ground hard, stunned and confused.
Park walked over, looking apologetic. "Are you alright?"
Arshavin stared at him, dazed. "You tackled ?"
Park bowed again. "Sorry! I got a little too excited!"
"…"
What the hell?
You bow when we et, and now you're trying to break my leg?
Arshavin lay on the ground, completely exasperated.
Kai had seen it clearly—the new guy was too aggressive.
Maybe Park had gone for the ball, but at that speed, he was bound to take soone down.
Most players avoided dangerous tackles in training. Even Kai himself focused on intercepting rather than sliding in recklessly.
But Park? Whether it was from excitent or nerves, he was super aggressive.
As the match continued, Kai got a real taste of what it ant to be annoyed.
Not by Park's skill, but his persistence—he stuck to you like glue, jostling with you for every ball like his life depended on it.
Kai turned to him: "Look. I understand you want to create a good impression. Being an Asian trying to make their mark in football is not easy, but there is no need for such aggressiveness?"
"Huh?" Park looked confused and apologetic,
Kai patted him on the back. "Just take it easy."
Park's face flashed a guilty smile. He turned away, saying nothing.
Kai rubbed his ribs, already feeling bruised.
Were Koreans this aggressive?
Shaking his head, Kai focused back on the ga.
The substitute team began to revolve around Kai's distribution—a directive straight from Wenger. All passes had to go through him.
It was a lot of pressure.
He mostly played it wide to spread the field and only passed forward when the timing was perfect.
And even then, it was always a one-touch pass. No unnecessary dribbling.
As a defensive midfielder, Kai had so breathing room during training—only the strikers pressured him.
Wenger gave him that space deliberately to allow him to develop.
Kai didn't waste the chance.
Every night before bed, he'd watch match footage of top midfielders. The next day, he'd compile notes and send them to Pat Rice—his self-imposed howork.
Pat used his spare ti to go over those notes with Kai.
The sessions were short but effective, and Kai genuinely enjoyed them.
Over ti, Kai ca to understand Wenger's thod: give young players ti and opportunity, then grind them with repetition and patience.
Wenger supported his youth.
But it wasn't just charity. It was a crucible.
If you're gold, you'll shine.
If not? Out you go.
Train. Train like hell. Train during matches.
And if you're ready? Help the next one train.
If not?
Get lost.
Kai shook off the chaotic thoughts and focused again.
Jenkinson passed the ball to him.
He controlled it sideways, ready to release it—when suddenly, that eerie sensation returned.
His instincts flared.
Kai jumped to avoid the challenge, but the opponent's knee still clipped him. He lost balance mid-air and crashed to the turf.
The entire training ground fell silent.
Kai lay there, pain radiating through his body, and anger burning in his chest.
If he hadn't dodged, he would've been seriously hurt.
"F##king hell!"
Roaring, Kai leapt to his feet, fury in his eyes.
He locked on to Park, who had just risen nearby, and stord toward him.
"Hold him back!" Van Persie shouted.
Rosický and Jenkinson scrambled to restrain Kai.
"F##k, Are you trying to break my leg!"
Kai was livid.
I thought we smoothed the situation on his aggressiveness previously.
Arshavin ran over and helped hold Kai back, while giving Park a swift kick of his own.
"As###le!"
It was clear now—the earlier foul wasn't accidental.
Chamberlain rushed in as well, trying to calm him down.
The whole training ground erupted into chaos.
Wenger and the coaching staff charged over.
"Enough! That's enough!"
Wenger's roar froze everyone in place.
He strode directly to Kai, whose chest was still heaving.
Wenger knelt, lifted Kai's shorts slightly, and checked the leg.
He pressed gently on the bone. "Does it hurt?"
Kai scowled, "I dodged in ti."
Wenger nodded, stood up, and placed a hand on Kai's shoulder.
"Let deal with this."
Kai didn't respond—his glare was still locked on Park.
Wenger sighed. "Training's over for today. Park stays. Everyone else dismissed."
He patted Kai's shoulder again. "I'll handle it."
Still no response.
Park was escorted away.
But Kai wasn't satisfied. He scanned the crowd until he found Song.
Walking over, he asked, his tone sharp, "Did you have anything to do with this?"
The tension rose again.
Everyone froze.
Song looked rattled. He raised his hands. "No! I swear—I don't know anything about it."
Kai's eyes flicked over him, and he took a deep breath.
He turned away slowly. Chamberlain followed.
As Kai walked off, Chamberlain called out, "Is it really like that?"
Kai didn't respond. His eyes narrowed.
"Hey! Say sothing!"
Kai suddenly stopped and turned. "Nothing. Just thinking"
"Don't do anything crazy." Chamberlain said, worried.
Kai leaned in, whispered sothing.
Chamberlain's eyes widened, trying to keep his voice down. "Are you out of your mind?!"
Kai answered calmly, "You don't have to worry. It's not about you. Or them."
"I-I'll help," Chamberlain stamred.
Kai grinned and clapped his shoulder. "No, I got this."
He turned and headed to the locker room. Minutes later, he was changed and gone.
...
[Head Coach Office, Arsenal Training Centre]
Up in the office, Wenger dismissed Park and moved to the window.
He watched Kai's figure disappear below.
Knock knock.
Pat entered.
He didn't look pleased. This incident couldn't be brushed aside.
Wenger spoke first. "I'm thinking of sending Park Chu-young away."
Pat nodded. "That's the right decision."
Then Wenger asked, "What do you think he'll do next?"
"Who? Kai?" Pat gave a wry smile. "He probably scared the life out of Park."
Wenger didn't reply right away.
Instead, a thoughtful smile crept onto his face.
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