FORESIGHT

Arsenal's training ground was buzzing with intensity.

Truthfully, the players had always trained hard under Wenger, but now there was a different edge to it—an urgency. Sessions were sharper, heavier, and more demanding than before.

Wenger and his staff had placed a greater emphasis on physical conditioning. Modern football simply didn't allow for anything less. The game was faster, systems tighter, and the physical requirements far beyond what the older generation endured.

As Ronaldo once quipped about his training when he was a Red Devil: "We focused on shooting drills, and even a four-kilometer warm-up felt like torture."

Times had certainly changed. Now, Arsenal's players were being pushed through at least ten kilometers of running every single day, mixed in with explosive sprint work and stamina-building drills.

Running was the foundation. In today's football, where tactical systems ruled everything, the ability to keep running—to sustain intensity—was the key to keeping the structure intact. Any lapse in fitness meant cracks in the system, and cracks meant defeats.

But it wasn't just endless laps around the pitch. Each position group had its own targeted routines. Defenders drilled turning speed and recovery runs, midfielders worked on their scanning and quick passing, while forwards sharpened their movement and finishing under pressure.

Take Mertesacker, for example. Everyone knew his turning speed was a weakness. Yes, with Kai shielding the back line, he had some protection, but he still needed to be capable of handling situations on his own. That drive to improve individually fed into a collective hunger.

The squad knew exactly what was at stake. To hold on to a starting place in this Arsenal side, you couldn't stagnate. Someone was always breathing down your neck. And right now, the one pushing the entire team forward more than anyone else was Kai.

His rapid development was undeniable, and it forced everyone around him to raise their own levels. Fall behind, and the risk wasn't just losing your spot in the XI—you could very well find yourself edged out of the club altogether.

"Again!"

Kai, shirt drenched in sweat, wrung it out, pulled it back on, and crouched low, ready to receive the ball. His focus was absolute.

Ever since Wenger had started handing him more responsibility in the middle, Kai had been under enormous pressure. He wasn't just another midfielder anymore—he was being asked to organize, to dictate. And that weight had forced him to adapt, fast.

Kai's vision was his weapon. His passing style wasn't like Arteta's measured, almost diplomatic approach. Kai's was bold, aggressive, and forward-looking. He rarely settled for sideways recycling unless the rhythm demanded it. More often than not, he looked to pierce through lines, forcing opponents to scramble.

At first, he struggled to keep that tempo consistent. Reading the whole pitch with his Foresight was mentally exhausting. Previously, he could only lock onto one player at a time. But now he'd found a trick: scanning spaces rather than individuals.

Instead of focusing on one man, he'd tilt his head before the ball arrived, take in the wider area, and register the vague patterns of movement. Blurry, yes, but enough to process quickly and make decisions on the fly.

"Too heavy!"

"Better, that one!"

"Nearly had it—again!"

"Kai, ease the tempo a touch!"

The feedback came nonstop from teammates as they adapted alongside him. The rhythm began to click. Arsenal's play looked sharper, more synchronized.

On the touchline, Wenger and Pat Rice exchanged glances, both smiling. They'd seen Arsenal play quick combinations before, but this was something else. The speed of the passing triangles, the off-ball runs, the instinctive understanding—it was electric.

Two or three swift exchanges, and suddenly the defensive lines were broken. But of course, such a demanding style left no room for lapses. Every player had to stay locked in mentally. One poor touch, one second of hesitation, and the whole sequence would collapse. Still, with repetition, stability would come.

Kai's ball-winning was another critical factor. Every time he pinched possession in midfield, Arsenal exploded forward. Suarez, Cazorla, Rosický, Walcott—one by one they pressed high, snapping into duels, feeding off Kai's energy.

It wasn't quite Klopp's Gegenpressing, but there were similarities. Arsenal was blending relentless pressing with Wenger's trademark pass-and-move philosophy. A strange hybrid, but on days when it clicked, it looked unstoppable.

Even Wenger himself seemed momentarily puzzled as he muttered to Pat, half in admiration:

"Pressure pressing with possession control? I'm not sure what to call it… but it might just work."

Nobody could quite put it into words, but the truth was obvious: the sheer aggressiveness of this new style of play was breathtaking. Arsenal looked like a spear being thrust straight at the opponent's goal—the point cold, sharp, and merciless. One clean strike, and the opposition could be undone.

And if the system was refined, if the squad adapted to it fully, Kai believed they could even challenge the very best—even Barcelona.

T/N: Chotto, chotto mate

During a short break in training, Suarez strolled over, sweat dripping down his face, curiosity written all over him.

"Kai," he asked earnestly, "can you show me how to tackle?"

Kai looked at him for a moment, a little caught off guard. Suarez wasn't exactly the type you'd expect to ask about defending.

His interceptions and ball recoveries came largely from his unique vision, his almost uncanny sense of where the ball would be next. It wasn't something he could explain step by step, and certainly not something every player could just copy. Still, there were techniques he could share.

But first, he needed to understand.

"Why the sudden interest?" Kai asked.

Suarez's role was clear—he was Arsenal's number nine, the finisher, the one who stretched the defence. Sometimes he dropped into a false nine role, but his main job was scoring goals. Yet, here he was, asking about tackles.

"I've been thinking," Suarez said, after a pause. "Our three forwards—we run a lot, yes, but too often it feels fruitless. If one of us can press with real intent, cut off their passing lanes, maybe even nick the ball, then our counterattacks could start higher up the pitch. We'd win it back before they can settle."

Kai nodded slowly, intrigued.

"You want to act as a shield striker, then?"

Suarez tilted his head. "Shield striker? What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's simple," Kai explained, a faint smile on his face. "A forward who not only attacks but also protects—pressing, harrying, winning the ball back in the final third. A shield in the front line."

Suarez's eyes lit up, though he quickly shook his head. "I'm not giving up scoring, mind you. But instead of pointless running, I'll add defensive work to my game. Smarter runs, harder tackles—anything that helps us turn defence into attack."

Kai chuckled. "In that case, you'd be better off going to Pat Rice. He's the best at teaching the technical side of it. I can help when you're stuck, but Pat will show you the proper movements."

Without hesitation, Suarez jogged off to find Pat. Kai watched as, soon after, Walcott, Rosicky, and Wilshere also drifted over, clearly interested in what was happening. Pat gathered them together and led the small group to a separate pitch for a focused session.

Kai couldn't help but grin at the sight. If the front line learned to defend with discipline as well as attack, Arsenal would have three defensive barriers: the forwards pressing high, the midfield locking down transitions, and the back line sweeping up. It was, in effect, total football—attack and defence as one.

Of course, he knew it wasn't ready yet. The tactic was raw, untested, and fragile. Its flaws were still unknown. It would take weeks, maybe months, before they could rely on it in matches. But one thing was certain: this system placed him at the centre, the pivot around which everything revolved.

While the main group trained with intensity, not everyone felt uplifted.

Off to the side, Chamberlain stood watching, frustration etched on his face. He knew exactly what was happening: Arsenal were shaping a new identity, one built around Kai. The same Kai who was his contemporary, his peer, and yet already the team's indispensable core.

Chamberlain, meanwhile, still couldn't break into the starting eleven. And worse, it was becoming clear that this new system didn't have a natural place for him at all.

The realization stung. To be sidelined not because of effort, but because tactically he simply didn't fit—it felt like being quietly abandoned. If Arsenal's future was being constructed here on the training ground, Chamberlain wasn't part of the blueprint.

Kai noticed him standing there, shoulders heavy, but he knew there was little he could do. Places in the starting line-up were always earned, never gifted. Arsenal were on the rise, pushing towards titles. Sentiment couldn't get in the way.

Perhaps, Kai thought with a quiet sigh, leaving might eventually be better for Chamberlain. At Arsenal, his opportunities would only grow fewer.

Because in truth, this new system—the one they were working so tirelessly on—was designed without him.