"The 2013–2014 Premier League season is about to reach its final round. Arsenal and Chelsea remain locked in a tight title race, with only a single point separating the two. The upcoming 38th round of the Premier League will decide who lifts the trophy. Fans from..."
Billy sat at ho, eyes fixed on the TV as the sports news anchor's voice echoed through the living room. His heart was pounding.
For weeks, Arsenal's title chase had left him restless. Every day, he'd drift off into daydreams—imagining the mont the Gunners would lift that silver trophy again.
Ten years.
It had been a full decade since Arsenal last won the Premier League.
A decade of frustration, of settling for Top Four. A decade of rivals mocking them as the Fourth-Place Specialists.
But now, things were different. Arsenal were back—fighting, believing, and just ninety minutes away from ending the drought.
Billy took a deep breath.
"Imagine it," he murmured to himself. "Wenger holding that trophy again. Kai leading the team out. Chelsea crushed at the Emirates..."
The thought alone made his chest tighten with excitent.
He grabbed his jacket and keys.
"I'm heading out," he muttered. Monts later, the sound of his car faded into the distance.
Half an hour later, Billy pushed open the door of the Oak Bar.
Even though it was only Thursday, the place was buzzing. Arsenal shirts, scarves, and laughter filled the air.
"Pint, please!" he called out.
A few seconds later, adows slid a cold glass across the counter. "You and half of North London, Billy."
Billy chuckled after taking a long sip. "Crowded today, huh?"
adows smirked. "They're all like you—can't sit still at ho."
Billy laughed. "Is it that obvious?"
"Mate," adows said, wiping down a glass, "we're two days away from the biggest match in ten years. Arsenal versus Chelsea for the title. Who can relax right now? People just need to be around other Gunners—talk, argue, hope."
Billy leaned in slightly. "You see that billboard across from London Bridge? The one that says, 'Forward! Arsenal!' Who did that?"
adows grinned. "Old Hawke."
Billy nearly spat out his drink. "You're joking! The sa Hawke who swore nine years ago he'd never support Arsenal again?"
"The very one," adows said, laughing boisterously.
Old Hawke was sothing of a legend among the Arsenal faithful. A property tycoon, loud as a gaphone, generous as they ca.
Back in Arsenal's glory years, he'd rented planes to fly banners across London—'In Arsène We Trust!'—and even donated to the club when they were too broke to sign players.
But when Wenger sold Vieira in 2005, Hawke lost it. He'd vowed never to back Arsenal again. And true to his word, he disappeared—until now.
This week, his massive "Forward! Arsenal!" billboard had gone up in full view of London Bridge.
Billy shook his head, grinning. "Guess he never really stopped loving the club."
"Nah," adows said. "He just needed a reason to believe again. And this season gave him one. Funny thing—since August, all the old faces have co crawling back. They act tough, but when Arsenal's winning, none of them can resist it."
Billy questioned. "Heard he's even been seen in Arsenal gear?"
"Yeah," adows chuckled as he shined the beer glasses. "David spotted him queuing for one at the official store. Said he wanted one for luck."
Billy laughed, swirling his drink. "So it's Kai, huh? He brought them all back?"
adows shrugged with a smile. "Maybe. That lad's got sothing special. You can feel it when he plays—energy, heart, that old Arsenal fire."
Billy nodded slowly. "Yeah... that celebration of his after every goal—the one at the East Stand. Makes you feel like you're part of it."
adows pointed with his shining cloth. "Tell about it. East Stand tickets are gold dust these days. People want to be close to that mont."
They even set up a special interactive celebration area — a section where the folding seats could be tucked away to form a standing terrace.
It had quickly beco the liveliest corner of the stadium, the heartbeat of the ho support. Arsenal's die-hard fans loved it. Everyone wanted a spot there — close enough to shout, sing, and even exchange a few words with Kai. Those tickets were almost impossible to get now.
adows and Billy were chatting over their pints when a sudden roar burst out from the crowd inside the bar.
They turned, startled, and saw fans raising their arms, cheering at the screen.
The television was playing a clip from ten years ago — Arsenal lifting the Premier League trophy.
The footage was grainy, the resolution poor, but the faces were unmistakable: Vieira, Henry, Pires... legends in red and white.
For a mont, the entire bar seed to travel back in ti. The crowd on-screen erupted, the old Highbury stands swaying as the Gunners celebrated another title.
The cheers from the TV filled the pub, and then gradually, the noise faded. Everyone stood quietly, eyes fixed on that piece of history.
"Arsenal are champions," Billy murmured, his voice trembling slightly. "God, that was beautiful."
"No one's craved this title more than us," adows added softly. "Ten years... we've waited too damn long."
Feeling the nostalgic atmosphere thicken, Billy raised his pint and said loudly. "To Kai! To Arsenal! And to finally bring the title ho!"
Glasses clinked across the bar as the Arsenal faithful shouted along.
"To Finally Bringing The Title Ho!!!"
...
Later that evening, Arsenal manager Martin Hughes sat down for an interview with Sky Sports.
"These past ten years," Hughes said with a weary smile, "have been agonizing for all of us. So much has gone wrong — and half the ti, we couldn't even explain why. We've had enough, honestly. But the blows just kept coming."
He paused, letting out a slow sigh.
"I work for Arsenal, but I'm also an Arsenal fan. I feel exactly what the supporters feel. We've all been waiting for soone — sothing to break this cycle."
Then, a small grin crept across his face. "And you know what? We finally got it."
"July 9th, 2011," he continued. "A rainy night in London. The club was in chaos after that ra–Mhmn I an Fabregas' betrayal, and the mood was toxic. And then this young lad from Sporting arrived — Kai. I was in a foul mood that night, but sohow, when I t him... I just felt calm. He has that kind of presence."
(Yo, Mark, We see through your lies lol😂)
Hughes chuckled. "We had a chat — well, more like a debate. Kai's a stubborn kid, but in the best way. He told straight: 'If you keep wallowing in this ss, you'll only sink deeper.' And you know what? He was right. He convinced ."
The interviewer laughed. "You ntioned before that you and Kai had a heated argunt in the car — sothing to do with Fabregas?"
Hughes blinked. "What? No, no, you've got it wrong! I wouldn't pick a fight with him — and Kai's not that kind of person. Sure, I was angry back then, but that passed quickly." He shrugged with a faint grin. "Honestly, I couldn't be bothered."
"Fair enough," the reporter smiled. "But Mustafi told us you spent an hour cursing Fabregas in that sa car."
Martin Hughes stared at him for a second, utterly speechless.
Then his jaw tightened. He muttered under his breath, "You journalists really don't give a man a break, do you?"
...
Please do leave a review and powerstones, helps with the book's exposure.
Feel like joining a Patreon for free and subscribing to advanced chapters?
Visit the link:
[email protected]/GRANDMAESTA_30
Change @ to a
User Comments
0 comments from readers