Christmas Eve, 2007.
At Arsenal's training ground, the atmosphere was taut. Even Nicolas Bendtner, usually the loudest presence in the dressing room, kept his mouth shut. No jokes. No bravado. Just focused, nervous energy.
Two days until Boxing Day. Two days until the North London Derby.
Arsenal vs. Tottenham.
The league table could wait. The title race could wait. This was bigger. This was a war.
Wenger kept the session going an extra hour, drilling tactics, set pieces, pressing triggers. No one complained. No one wanted to be the reason they lost this one.
At 4 PM, he finally released them.
"Jin. What are your plans for tonight?"
Jin shrugged. "Nothing. I don't really celebrate Christmas."
Wenger's expression shifted—something between surprise and pity. "Mon Dieu. You're spending it alone?"
"It's fine. Really."
"Come to my house."
Jin blinked. "What?"
"My girlfriend cooks. Smoked salmon, oysters, roast venison. Proper French food. Better than that canteen rubbish."
Jin hesitated. He had nowhere else to be. And the thought of proper food—after weeks of the club's low-fat, high-protein Japanese-inspired meals—was tempting.
"Alright. Thank you, Professor."
>>>>
Wenger's car was an old Jaguar XJ. Understated, elegant, reliable. Much like the man himself.
As they drove through North London, the conversation drifted from the usual coach-player dynamic into something more natural. Two people who loved football, talking about it.
Wenger was curious about Jin's experience in Germany. Jin was curious about Wenger's long-term vision for Arsenal.
"I've been watching your Dortmund matches," Wenger said. "Thomas Doll gives you freedom. More than I expected."
"He doesn't have much choice. The team was struggling. He needed something different."
"And you deliver." Wenger glanced at him. "You see spaces others don't. You move without the ball like you've been doing it for years. That's not something you can teach."
Jin said nothing. He couldn't explain it anyway.
"Tell me," Wenger continued, "what do you think of Arsenal's style? Honestly."
Jin considered the question. He'd thought about it a lot, actually. Watching from Germany, then training with the squad.
"The possession game—it's good. Better than most in England. But it's not quite there yet."
"Where?"
Jin chose his words carefully. He didn't want to sound like a know-it-all kid. But the Professor had asked.
"Barcelona. The way they keep the ball, the way they press after losing it. It's not just about keeping possession—it's about winning it back immediately, high up the pitch. Constant pressure in the opponent's half."
Wenger was quiet for a moment. Then: "You've been studying."
"Just watching."
"Rijkaard's Barcelona haven't fully realised that yet. You think they will?"
Jin hesitated. Something flickered at the edge of his mind—not a vision, not a premonition, just a sense. A feeling that the football world was about to shift.
"I think someone will," he said finally. "Maybe not next season. But soon. And when they do, they'll be very hard to stop."
Wenger nodded slowly, filing the thought away. At the time, it seemed like the musings of a bright young player with an analytical mind. Nothing more.
Two years later, watching Pep Guardiola's Barcelona dismantle Manchester United in Rome, he would remember this conversation. And he would shiver.
>>>
The Wenger family home sat in a quiet street in Barnet, an area favoured by North London's middle class. Modest by Premier League manager standards, but warm. Lived-in.
The door opened before they reached it.
"Welcome! Jin!"
Annie, Wenger's partner, was tall—a former basketball player, still athletic, still imposing. She pulled Jin into a brief hug before he could react.
"Arsène never stops talking about you. The most talented boy he's ever worked with. And the hardest working."
Jin felt his ears warm. "That's... very kind."
"Come in, come in. Dinner's almost ready."
Behind her, a small face peeked out from around the corner. Léa, their ten-year-old daughter, with her father's thoughtful eyes and her mother's height. She stared at Jin with open curiosity.
"Jin, would you mind keeping Léa company while I finish cooking?" Annie was already heading back towards the kitchen. "Thank you!"
Wenger had disappeared upstairs—a tactical meeting with his staff, preparing for Tottenham.
Jin and Léa stood in the living room, looking at each other.
"Would you like to play Barbies with me?"
Jin glanced at the dollhouse in the corner. Then back at Léa's hopeful face.
"Sure. Why not."
For the next hour, Jin Hayes—Bundesliga sensation, destroyer of Bayern Munich—sat cross-legged on the floor, making tiny plastic shoes fit on tiny plastic feet. Léa directed the proceedings with the authority of a seasoned general. Jin followed orders.
His phone buzzed.
Anna: Was ist los?(What's up?)
Jin grinned. He snapped a photo of himself holding a Barbie, Léa's hand visible in the frame, and sent it.
A long pause. Then:
Anna: ?
Anna: ??
Anna: She looks young, Jin. How could you?
Jin laughed out loud, earning a curious look from Léa.
Jin: She's Wenger's daughter. I'm a guest. For Christmas.
Anna: Hmm.
Jin: Are you jealous?
He used the German word deliberately. Eifersüchtig. It felt more teasing that way.
The bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Nothing sent.
Jin shrugged and went back to Barbies.
>>>
Dinner was spectacular.
Smoked salmon with dill. Oysters on ice. Roast venison with a red wine reduction. French foie gras that Jin had to consciously stop himself from inhaling entirely. Annie was an exceptional cook, and after weeks of bland canteen food, every bite was a revelation.
Wenger came down from his study halfway through the meal, loosening his tie, pouring himself a glass of Bordeaux. The conversation flowed—football, France, Léa's school play, Jin's impressions of London.
It was warm. Normal. The kind of evening Jin hadn't realised he'd been missing.
As dessert approached—a chocolate fondant that looked illegal—his phone buzzed again.
An MMS. Loading...
The image resolved slowly. Anna, holding her phone at arm's length, the Heinrich family Christmas tree behind her. Hans with a beer, Maria laughing at something, old Fritz asleep in his armchair. Everyone gathered, warm, together.
Anna's face in the foreground. Clear blue eyes looking straight into the lens. Straight at him.
Anna: Everyone misses you, Jin.
He typed a reply. Before he could send, another message arrived.
Anna: Me too.
***
Me 3, I was away for a while but I'll compensate y'all with 2 chapters daily for the next week to make up for last week. Wish it could loosen your pockets for some change but oh well!!
And Yes, Wenger only married his girlfriend in 2010.