[Mr. Wilson's Parlor, North London]
Mr. Wilson's haircutting skills were well-known in North London..
Despite being 67, he had never left the trade.
What he was most proud of, though, was claiming to have once cut the hair of Arsenal's legend, The Iceman, Dennis Bergkamp.
Of course, this was entirely a one-sided story.
Verified from multiple angles, there was zero chance Bergkamp had ever set foot in Wilson's Parlor.
But Mr. Wilson insisted otherwise. And if anyone questioned him, he'd fly into a rage.
"Every player I've ever cut ends up becoming an Arsenal legend," he'd clarify.
With reading glasses perched on his nose, Mr. Wilson steadied his slightly trembling hand as he worked the electric clippers over Kai's hair.
Kai's hair had grown long. He hadn't cut it in nearly half a year — it was practically ready for braids.
He was cutting it for convenience. For the new season. And also for the sake of looking sharp.
He wanted a clean, sharp image, so he'd come to Mr. Wilson to hook him up with a clean cut.
But had he known Mr. Wilson was 67 and had hands that shook, he might've paid a little more and found a trendy stylist in London.
"It was back when Arsenal played with both style and grit! Hmph! Not like the lot we have now — soft as butter." Mr. Wilson scoffed as he clipped. "Back in the day, Vieira would scream in Keane's face. Sure, he was a thug, but with him we didn't fear anyone!"
"And now? A bunch of lads who don't even dare to throw a tackle. No fight in 'em at all."
Kai chuckled, "Sir, fighting doesn't always mean bloodshed."
Wilson snapped back, "True! But if you're too scared to fight, where's the spirit?"
Kai could only smile helplessly. This argument was going in circles.
He glanced at the old man, a little worried. He was afraid that one misstep would leave him bald.
And then — buzz.
A sudden chill spread over the back of Kai's head. A hefty clump of hair dropped to the floor.
Kai: "..."
Mr. Wilson: "..."
Staring at the deep trench carved by the clippers, Mr. Wilson fell into a long silence before finally saying:
"Kid, I think a one-inch cut suits you better."
Kai wanted to cry, but had no tears.
What else could he do now that the damage was done?
He sighed. "Go on, then."
"Good lad! Knew you had taste!" Mr. Wilson beamed, and with that, his trembling hands suddenly moved with confidence. He finished the cut swiftly, front to back.
Two minutes later, Kai rubbed his now bare scalp and cracked a grin.
Strangely enough, the old man had a point. The Scofield look suited him.
The long hair, or even the bowl cut he used to wear, gave off too much of a boyish vibe.
He studied his reflection in the mirror.
Nice shape.
Kai nodded with quiet approval.
Mr. Wilson laughed. "Well? Not bad, right?"
Kai shrugged, paid up, and smiled. "Well, now you can say you cut the hair of a future Arsenal legend."
"You?" Mr. Wilson burst out laughing, then said, "Let's take a photo and keep it on record. If you don't make it, you'll have to come here for every haircut for the rest of your career."
Kai raised an eyebrow. "And if I do make it?"
"Then free haircuts for life!"
"It's a deal."
...
When Kai walked into the dressing room with his new haircut, Chamberlain did a double-take, and a few teammates offered compliments.
But Kai couldn't exactly admit it had been an accident.
"Why so short? Your long hair was your thing, wasn't it?" Chamberlain asked, curious.
Looking to make a joke, Kai answered lazily, "So it doesn't get in the way during fights."
The locker room fell into stunned silence.
And then, a few seconds later, it was as if nothing had happened.
Kai tilted his head. That wasn't his imagination — why did they react like that?
...
The morning session was just basic training — some light work.
Nothing too intense for someone like Kai, not even the fitness drills.
While training, he kept a close eye on the physical state of his teammates.
The season hadn't even started, and two key players were already out injured.
Wilshere and Rosický.
Wilshere was self-explanatory — he made a brief appearance at the end of last season and promptly booked himself a return trip to the treatment table. The man was like fine china — fragile and expensive.
Rosický had hurt himself during the Euros. After Achilles tendon surgery, he was out for at least three months — and that was a best-case scenario.
With Rosický and Wilshere both sidelined and Alex Song shipped off by Wenger, Arsenal's midfield was getting dangerously thin.
The options now?
Arteta, Ramsey, Denilson, Cazorla, Diaby, and Kai.
Only Arteta and Cazorla had guaranteed starting spots. The rest, including Kai, were still fighting for a place.
At this stage, Ramsey and Diaby had the edge — their experience gave them the advantage.
Kai was probably next in line.
His defensive awareness and interception skills were crucial in midfield. With Kai on the pitch, Arsenal's offensive players could push forward with more freedom.
That said, his weakness was also clear: he lacked initiative in the attack.
Not because he couldn't attack, but because he simply didn't. Without enough confidence, he wouldn't venture forward.
This frustrated the Professor. Wenger was even considering giving Kai a direct order to push the ball up more.
Otherwise, Kai would always choose the safest option.
Which meant… passing it to Arteta. Every. Single. Time.
Last season, Arsenal had headaches from Alex Song running too far forward.
This season? The headache might be that Kai is never moving up at all.
Still, that didn't mean Kai wasn't effective. His defensive game was solid and reliable.
Plus the guy was making an effort to suppress those habits
...
Training wrapped up around 11 a.m.
After lunch and a two-hour break, they'd return for an intra-squad match.
Which meant no overeating.
The Arsenal cafeteria meals were… uninspiring.
As one of the first clubs to introduce strict diet management, Arsenal used to be mocked in the days when players still smoked and drank like regular folks.
But time had proven Wenger right. These days, most top clubs followed suit.
Still, it didn't change the fact that British food was… awful.
Kai stared at his tray — five pieces of grilled chicken breast, assorted vegetables, a small portion of carbs, and a few dipping sauces.
He missed the flavors of China.
The cafeteria had neat rows of four-seater tables. Three rows, six columns — 18 tables in all.
Coaches and players ate together. Wenger believed in leading by example.
Kai sat with Arteta.
Chamberlain had been pulled aside by Pat Rice. Anyone going through fat loss didn't get to eat with the team.
Kai chatted with Arteta over lunch.
Then he noticed Suarez walk in.
He came alone, grabbed his tray, looked around briefly, paused at Vermaelen's table, then quietly settled into a corner by himself.
Suarez had done well in pre-season friendlies, scoring in all three games. But he still hadn't fully blended into the team.
He wasn't the most social guy, and Vermaelen, as captain, wasn't exactly extending a hand.
Cazorla, by contrast, had the energy of a golden retriever with a mic. The guy danced and sang in the locker room on day one, immediately lightening the mood.
Suarez just wasn't like that.
Lately, he hadn't been in a great mental state either.
Liverpool fans had turned on him. Despite bringing in €57 million in transfer fees, they called him a traitor, especially since he joined a direct rival like Arsenal.
The backlash left a mark.
Kai watched Suarez, chewing slowly.
This guy's a gem.
As Suarez looked up, their eyes met awkwardly.
Kai took a sip of water and called out, "Hey, Luis! Come sit with us!"
Suarez was surprised. He pointed to himself.
Kai nodded. "Yeah, you. Come on."
Suarez hesitated a second, then got up and walked over, nodding to Arteta before taking a seat beside Kai.
"You've been great these past few days — three goals in three games. We're counting on you this season," Kai said with a smile.
Suarez looked bashful and grinned, flashing his trademark buck teeth. "Everyone's playing well."
Kai smiled. "How's the team been treating you?"
Suarez frowned slightly. "Not great. It's been hard to fit in."
"That's normal," Kai replied, munching on a piece of chicken breast. "The last two captains left — the vibe could be better."
Suarez looked surprised.
Arteta shook his head with a smile.
Kai hadn't lowered his voice, and everyone around heard it. They just pretended not to.
Kai clapped Suarez on the shoulder. "Chin up. Season goal: 31 goals."
Suarez blinked. "Why 31?"
Kai grinned. "Because Van Persie scored 30 last season. Got it?"
....
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