In the morning, Kai arrived early at the Colney Training Base.
Because of the holiday, the entire complex felt unusually quiet.
Aside from a few youth academy players still keeping their routines, most of the first-team squad were absent. It was easy to imagine everyone scattered across different countries, enjoying their time away.
Kai, however, had little interest in vacations. He was easily content—resting at home suited him just fine.
After changing into his training kit in the locker room, he picked up a spare key, headed straight to the equipment room, grabbed a net of footballs, and walked out onto the pitch.
The London weather was pleasant that day. A cool breeze drifted across the training ground, clearing the lingering humidity.
Kai tipped the net upside down, letting the balls roll out across the grass. He then sat down, calmly tying his shoelaces. After a few firm stomps to settle his boots, he began jogging around the field.
Warm-ups were something Kai took very seriously. To him, they were not optional—they were essential.
A proper warm-up improved training quality and helped him reach the right rhythm quickly. Before matches especially, it was non-negotiable. His ability to enter game mode fast was something he had built through discipline, not talent alone.
Once the jogging was done, Kai moved into stretching.
Stretching mattered just as much, if not more. After his injury, he had become even more meticulous, making sure every muscle was properly prepared.
Only after completing all those steps did he finally pick up a ball and begin his technical work.
Back home, limited pitch conditions meant he trained only about three times a week, usually every other day. Still, his touch hadn't dulled.
Outside-of-the-foot dribbles, inside cuts, quick changes of direction, tight ball control—each drill flowed smoothly into the next. Sweat soon formed lightly on his brow.
He shrugged off his jacket, preparing to move into the real session.
Kai structured his training into three clear phases:
First—warm-up.
Second—high-intensity work.
Third—cool-down.
The first and last were supportive stages, designed to help the body adapt and prevent injury. The second was the core.
Over the next two hours, Kai would push himself through work equivalent to nearly ninety minutes of match intensity. It tested his endurance, his body, and his focus—but it was also how he continued to grow.
Just as he was about to step back onto the pitch, the sound of a door opening cut through the quiet.
Kai turned his head.
A young dark man stood by the entrance, one hand still on the handle, hesitating slightly as he looked over.
Kai studied him for a moment, then his eyes widened.
"N'Golo Kanté?"
Kanté nodded quickly.
"Yes—yes. Hello." He paused, then added carefully, "Hello, Le Kai. Captain."
It was obvious he was nervous.
Not long ago, he had been playing in Ligue 2. Even though his team had earned promotion last season, he hadn't featured in a single top-flight match. Now, he had joined a club like Arsenal directly—and everything about this place carried weight.
Standing in front of Kai, the team's captain and star midfielder, only made that pressure heavier.
Kanté lingered on the sidelines, unsure of where to stand.
Kai waved him over, relaxed and friendly.
"It's just Kai," he said with an easy smile. "No need to be so formal."
Kanté nodded again, though it was unclear how much he caught.
"Ah… okay. Kai."
"When did you arrive at Arsenal?" Kai asked.
Kanté frowned slightly, processing the sentence. After a short pause, he answered,
"Uh… one month. I come when you… World Cup."
He made a small gesture with his hands, as if kicking a ball. "You play."
Kai waited patiently, letting him finish.
"You came early, then."
"Yes," Kanté said, relieved to hear something he understood.
"I want… adapt fast." He searched for the word. "Adapt… quickly."
He nodded to himself. "France, I not play. So… I come train."
The grammar wasn't perfect, but the meaning was clear.
Kai smiled. He genuinely appreciated players who took training seriously.
"You train here alone?"
Kanté tilted his head. "Alone… yes. Sometimes youth players."
Then, almost apologetically, "My English… not good."
"That's fine," Kai said calmly. "Football English is enough for now."
At that, Kanté's shoulders relaxed just a little.
After a brief pause, Kai asked, "Do you want to train together?"
Kanté's eyes widened.
"Together?"
Then quickly, "Yes. Yes, preease."
Kanté nodded enthusiastically.
"I follow. I do same."
He hesitated, then added with a shy smile,
"If I… wrong, you tell me."
Kai gave him a thumbs-up. "Don't worry. I've got you."
Kanté smiled back—small, genuine, and clearly grateful—before jogging into position beside him.
While N'Golo Kanté was running laps, Kai quietly observed him.
This was, potentially, his future partner in defensive midfield.
Kai had strong confidence in Kanté—arguably more than Kanté had in himself.
Kanté wasn't tall, nor was he particularly bulky. His frame looked ordinary at first glance. But his tackling and interception ability were exceptional.
Even in physical duels, he was far stronger than his appearance suggested.
You couldn't underestimate him. He had a habit of bursting out from blind spots, timing his challenges perfectly, and stealing the ball cleanly. Just when opponents thought they were safe, he would appear.
What impressed Kai even more was Kanté's reading of the game. His positioning and anticipation explained why he was always arriving at the right moment to make a tackle.
As for passing, that was something Kanté developed later in his career. Right now, it was still an unknown.
But Kai didn't mind.
What Arsenal needed from him—what he needed—was exactly this defensive awareness and work rate.
In Arsenal's previous setups, Kai had shouldered most of the defensive burden himself. Although Arsène Wenger wanted to develop his attacking instincts, reality often forced Kai to stay deep.
Most matches saw him constantly running, pressing, tackling, and intercepting in his own half.
With Kanté beside him, that pressure would ease.
It would give Kai more freedom—more energy—to push forward and truly control the game.
That was why Kanté mattered so much to Arsenal.
Together, they could become a midfield nightmare for opponents.
And for Kai personally, it meant a chance to evolve into a genuine central core, not just a defensive engine.
Thinking of that future, the smile on Kai's face grew noticeably brighter.
"Alright," Kai said, clapping his hands once. "We're increasing the intensity."
Kanté stopped, bent slightly at the waist, then straightened and nodded quickly, eyes full of focus.
"Yes. Okay."
"Burpees, then fifty-meter sprints," Kai continued. "Same set."
Kanté nodded again. "I do. I ready."
This type of training targeted explosiveness and stamina—crucial in football, a sport that constantly shifts between aerobic and anaerobic demands.
In a ninety-minute match, players sprint, stop, turn, and sprint again endlessly. That constant change drained the body far more than steady running.
"Start."
Kai dropped straight into a push-up, sprang upward, landed, and immediately exploded forward into a sprint.
Kanté followed without hesitation, matching his pace step for step.
Twenty seconds of rest.
"Again," Kai called.
They went once more.
Back and forth they sprinted, over and over, the quiet training ground echoing only with their breathing and footsteps.
Without either of them noticing, half an hour slipped by.
Pant. Pant. Pant.
Kanté bent forward, hands braced on his thighs. His breathing was heavy and uneven. His legs felt like they were on fire, his lungs burning with every inhale.
He had lost count of how many sprints they had done.
Kanté trusted his stamina—he always had. That was one thing he believed in.
But even so, after just the first drill, his legs were already trembling.
Kai walked over, towel in hand, wiping sweat from his face.
"You alright?" he asked.
Kanté sucked in air, lips pressed together. After a second, he nodded hard.
"Yes. Yes, I okay."
He straightened slightly, forcing himself upright.
Inside, he was thinking of only one thing: I cannot look weak.
If he wanted to fit in here, he needed the captain's approval.
He had to hold on—even if his body said otherwise.
Kai noticed the determination in his eyes and smiled faintly. He turned toward the pitch, pointing at the white line.
"Lunges," he said calmly. "Two laps around the field."
Kanté froze.
His eyes widened, round with disbelief. He glanced down at his shaking thighs and muttered, half to himself,
"More… leg training?"
Kai pulled up his shorts slightly and flexed his thigh. The muscle definition stood out clearly.
"This," Kai said brokenly, "is base. When you reach limit, this keep you fight. Strong legs help you win duel… last minute."
Kanté swallowed, then took a deep breath.
"Okay," he said quietly. "I do."
He stepped forward into a deep lunge, front knee bent at a right angle, body sinking low. Slowly, painfully, he shifted his weight and switched legs, moving forward one step at a time.
Kai followed behind him.
He could already see Kanté's legs beginning to shake.
But he wasn't done yet.
His endurance is excellent, Kai thought approvingly.
Kanté, meanwhile, had a very different thought running through his mind.
Is big club training always like this?
This was only the second drill—and he already felt close to collapsing.
And yet, despite everything, he kept moving forward, one trembling step at a time.
. . .
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