December 10th, just fifteen days until Christmas, London was alive with festive cheer. Streets were lined with Christmas trees, and shopping malls displayed piles of neatly wrapped gifts, ready for anyone who spent enough to take one home. People dressed as Santa Claus or reindeer wandered the sidewalks, spreading cheer.
Through the night traffic, a bus painted red and white with a massive Arsenal logo glided past.
"Christmas is almost here," someone murmured. Homesickness flickered in their eyes, but not in Kai. For him, the Lunar New Year had always carried a stronger sense of belonging. Still, he respected the holiday spirit.
"Guys, we're going to make sure the fans have a wonderful Christmas," Kai said softly.
The voice wasn't loud, but in the quiet of the bus, it carried clearly. Teammates smiled. Arsenal's squad had been thriving. Except for that one hiccup in the Premier League, the team had maintained a winning streak, and the players felt comfortable in the rhythm of success.
"Hey, let's sing together," Sanchez suggested.
Groans echoed through the bus, but Sanchez wasn't deterred. He suddenly stood up and shouted in his hoarse voice:
"Who scored for us?!"
"Luis! Luis!" came the response.
"An angel is dancing; his name is Di Maria!"
"Who is on the left?!"
Sanchez pointed dramatically to the left. "Oh! Alexis Sanchez!"
The bus erupted in laughter. He knew how to liven up the atmosphere.
The chant was an Arsenal fan favorite, built on a British country tune but with a heavy metal twist. Sanchez's singing wasn't perfect, but the mood lifted. One by one, the players joined in, belting out the lyrics with growing energy.
Finally, Sanchez pointed at Kai as he hit a high note. "Listen! The captain is roaring! What is he saying?!"
Kai chuckled, raised his fist, and shouted with full strength: "Forward!"
"Arsenal!!"
At the front, Pat Rice and Arsène Wenger turned back to watch. Pat laughed. "I love Sanchez. He really knows how to fire everyone up."
Wenger smiled. "This relaxed energy is perfect. It helps the team."
By 8 p.m., the bus arrived at the Colney Training Center. After a quick debrief on the last match, Wenger dismissed the players.
Back at his house, the director and Ma Fanshu appeared.
"Want to be filmed?" the director asked.
Kai raised an eyebrow. "Filmed?"
The director nodded. "We want to document a day in the life of you. We'll follow you from the moment you wake up, through your routines, without interfering in the locker room or during the match."
Kai considered it and nodded. "As long as it doesn't affect the game, it's fine."
The director beamed. "Great. Xiao Ma will be with you for the entire shoot tomorrow."
Kai looked at Ma Fanshu, who winked.
"Aren't you the host?"
"I am," she said, tying her hair back. "But I've learned some self-filming techniques, so we can keep it unobtrusive."
Kai nodded. The arrangement was thoughtful.
"Are you nervous?" Ma Fanshu asked, curiosity in her voice.
Kai tilted his head. "Nervous about what?"
"Champions League. Tomorrow's a big one—first place in the group at stake. Borussia Dortmund."
Kai laughed.
"I wouldn't say I'm nervous. Just used to it. After so many Champions League matches, the knockout-stage atmosphere, especially the semi-finals, is intense."
Ma Fanshu's eyes widened.
She turned to him eagerly. "You'll make it to the final this year, I'm sure of it."
Kai smiled
"Thank you."
. . .
The next morning, just as Kai got up, Ma Fanshu knocked on the door with a video camera.
"Good morning!"
Kai blinked in surprise. "So early?"
Ma Fanshu smiled, raising the camera. "We want to show the audience the most authentic side of ourselves."
Kai nodded. "Then come in."
He went straight to the bathroom and started shaving.
Ma Fanshu filmed quietly. "Was the goatee on purpose?"
After cleaning his face, he wiped off the foam. "Mostly, I grow it to look more mature."
Ma Fanshu chuckled softly.
At 23, Kai's baby-faced features didn't look imposing without a beard.
Kai moved on to his gear.
Kai packed each item needed for the game carefully into his golf bag, then called Ma Fanshu to the car.
As they drove, Kai explained, "Champions League matches aren't like Premier League games. Mostly on weekday evenings, but preparation starts in the morning. Diet, warm-ups, recovery—everything is strict. Miss a step, the coach won't let you play."
Ma Fanshu asked, "Doesn't anyone sneak a snack?"
Kai nodded. "It happens. Players eat in private. The club is strict, but it can't fully prevent it. Some are in a weight-control phase and need more energy, so they'll eat extra meat."
"And you?"
Kai pointed to the back seat. "Bananas. Best for energy during a game. I get enough calories every day, so no worries."
Ma Fanshu watched curiously. She hadn't realized so many details went into a single match. Amateur matches were worlds apart—people might smoke at halftime—but in professional games, being caught meant the bench.
Soon, they arrived at the training base.
A mass of fans swarmed the front gate. Ma Fanshu's eyes widened. The way they pressed against the car reminded her of a scene from an apocalyptic movie.
Kai warned, "Don't open the door. Security will handle it."
As if on cue, staff arrived, creating a clear path. Kai drove in smoothly.
Ma Fanshu patted her chest. "I was terrified."
Kai smiled, rolled down the window, and extended his fist. The fans erupted instantly.
"Forward!"
"Arsenal!"
. . .
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