"Oh, come on."
Le Kai rolled his eyes, a trace of impatience showing.
This guy was really overthinking it. Even with a favorable draw, he still looked tense.
Wilshere kept his serious look. "Don't you think so? Everything's been too smooth."
"Smooth is good," Le Kai shot back. "If we can win the Champions League like that, even better."
Wilshere paused.
He had to admit that made sense. An easier path meant less strain.l. It was exactly what every team hoped for.
But still…
Bang.
Le Kai's hand came down hard on his back.
Wilshere jolted forward. "What was that for?"
Le Kai jerked his chin toward the door. "Time to go. Stop thinking so much."
. . .
The Arsenal squad boarded the bus back to London.
There was little time to relax. With the season entering its final stretch, matches came one after another. In just three days, they would be in Paris for the second leg of the Champions League quarter-final.
Win that, and Arsenal would reach the semi-final for a second straight season.
This time, they felt more prepared and settled.
. . .
On April 21st, after two days of rest, the team set off again.
The moment the bus rolled out of the training ground, it was surrounded. Fans in cars followed closely, media vans kept pace, and cameras pressed in from every angle.
From the training ground to the airport, the streets were packed.
Fans lined both sides of the road, stretching far into the distance. Waves of cheers followed the bus, rising and falling as it passed.
"The Champions League atmosphere's kicking in," Wilshere said quietly, watching through the window.
The difference was clear. The earlier rounds felt routine, but with the semi-final within reach, everything carried more fanfare.
The others felt it too. Last season had been their first taste of this stage, and it had stayed with them.
Le Kai leaned back slightly, glancing outside.
In London, in Europe as a whole, football took over everything at this stage. Once the semi-finals approached, the entire conversation narrowed to those final contenders.
He had played in a semi-final before.
So what would a final feel like?
The thought lingered for a moment before he turned to Wilshere.
"How did Arsenal fans celebrate the last time we made the final?"
Wilshere froze.
Back then, he had only been a youth player. Still, the memory was etched into his mind.
His eyes softened, distant. "That day… the whole sky over London turned red. The ground sho-"
Bang.
Le Kai smacked him again.
"I asked a question, not for poetry."
Wilshere frowned, rubbing his head. "I'm serious."
"Then explain it properly."
"I was just—"
"Alright, everyone, get ready to board," Arsène Wenger called from the front. "Take your luggage, don't leave anything behind. Move, move."
The players filed off the bus.
Security formed a human corridor on both sides as reporters surged forward, microphones raised, cameras flashing without pause.
The players kept their focus ahead. One by one, they entered the terminal and queued for security.
. . .
April 22nd, 2015. Paris time, 13:29.
The Arsenal plane landed.
From there, it was straight onto another bus, heading for the hotel.
At the same time, across the city, Paris Saint-Germain manager Laurent Blanc faced the press.
After a poor first leg, pressure had built quickly. The club, the fans, the media, all closing in. Burying your head in the sand like an ostrich to ignore the noise was no longer an option.
Blanc stood before the cameras, expression flat, voice controlled but edged.
"Yes. You've all got what you wanted," he said. "I know exactly what you're here for."
"Some of you want me to take responsibility and step down. I understand that very well."
The room stirred immediately.
Questions flew in, sharper now.
"Who are you referring to?"
.
"Are you talking about President Nasser?"
.
"Are you criticizing the club's leadership?"
.
"Do you think the Paris hierarchy should also take responsibility for the loss?"
The question came fast, almost on top of the last one.
Laurent Blanc glanced toward the press officer. The man gave a small signal, subtle but clear.
Blanc's face tightened.
So that was it. Say less. Take the hit. Walk away.
He drew in a slow breath and steadied himself. "When you lose, the responsibility belongs to the coach and the players. I have my share of faults. No matter what happens in the next match, I will give the fans a satisfactory response."
"Satisfactory response."
The phrase spread through the room in seconds. Reporters leaned forward, voices rising again.
Outside, the chants had already started.
"Blanc, resign!"
Before the questions could build further, the press officer stepped in and cut the session short. It had never been meant to last.
. . .
"Is that enough?"
Backstage, Blanc's voice was low, but the anger in it was clear.
One of the club directors sighed. "We shouldn't be at this point."
"You pushed it here," Blanc replied, holding himself back. "You want me to take everything and leave. Fine. I'll leave. But I won't stand there and call myself incompetent."
He pointed at him, the restraint starting to crack. "You never trusted me. Not once. I asked for players. None came. Not one."
The director said nothing.
His lips moved slightly, just enough for Blanc to catch the shape of the words.
Blanc took a step forward, but the man had already turned and walked out.
The last thing he heard was quiet and stinging.
"Idiot. He thinks he's Alex Ferguson or Arsène Wenger. Wants to run everything."
Blanc stood there for a moment, stewing in anger.
In the end, it settled into a long breath.
. . .
"We kicked Blanc out?"
In the hotel cafeteria, Alexis Sánchez blurted it out, loud enough to turn every head.
Before anyone could respond, another voice cut through.
"Eat first. Talk later."
Le Kai said.
. .
At the coaches' table, Arsène Wenger ate slowly, savoring every bite.
He cut a piece of steak, chewed it with care, then nodded to himself. "French restaurants in England are disappointing. You don't get a proper steak. Here, at least, it's done right."
Across from him, Pat Rice handled his meal with far less patience. His knife worked quickly, his focus more on eating than appreciating.
"Is Blanc really going to be sacked?" he asked between bites.
Wenger gave a small shrug. "Hard to say, but…"
He paused, choosing his words.
"He began as an interim option. For that, he did well. Still, it was never enough to change how the club sees him."
"They want history. Big, immediate success."
He set his fork down briefly.
"But that doesn't come from the top alone. It grows from the base. Trust in the coach, investment in youth, and time. They have not shown much of that."
When Wenger arrived at Arsenal, it had taken years to shape the club. More than a decade before they reached their unbeaten run.
Paris wanted results now.
Wenger dabbed his mouth with a napkin, his movements calm. A faint smile appeared at the corner of his lips.
"Some people believe money alone wins the Champions League."
Pat Rice let out a short laugh, unable to hold it back.
. . .
Please do leave a review and powerstones, which helps with the book's exposure.
Feel like joining a Patreon for free and subscribing to 30+ advanced chapters?
Visit the link:
[email protected]/GRANDMAESTA_30
Change @ to a