After the second round of matches, national teams began crisscrossing Brazil once again. With games spread across multiple cities, constant travel had become part of the routine.
Once their second match concluded, the Chinese squad immediately departed Porto Alegre. Along with them went a massive wave of travelling supporters, leaving the once-boisterous city noticeably quieter.
Their next stop: Curicó, where China would face the defending champions, Spain, at the Baixada Arena.
Spain, however, entered the third round in unexpectedly bleak condition—one draw, one loss, and a country drowning in frustration. The disappointment wasn't limited to fans; the entire squad seemed unsettled. Reports of internal disagreements flooded the media, and conspiracy theories were thrown around daily. The defending champions were now the subject of global scrutiny.
And the champion's curse wasn't helping.
France in 2002.
Italy in 2010.
Both went home early.
Now, Spain seemed dangerously close to joining that list.
For the Spanish side, anything short of a convincing win could mean an early exit. By comparison, the Netherlands faced far less pressure heading into their match with Chile.
China, though, carried the weight of possibility.
A draw, and they would advance.
Simple on paper. Brutal in reality.
Despite Spain's rough start, their second match showed flickers of recovery. Even without Xavi, even with an aging core, they still had world-class talent—Iniesta, Fabregas, Cazorla, Xabi Alonso. Write them off, and you'd regret it.
...
Inside the Chinese team's tactics room, Liu Hongbo tapped his marker against the board.
"Our overall shape remains defensive," he began. "But sitting back won't be enough against Spain. Their passing rhythms will slice us apart if we don't apply pressure. We need coordinated pressing and a strong midfield clamp."
His gaze shifted to Kai.
"Iniesta and Cazorla are their key engines. I need you locking them down."
Kai nodded. He knew Cazorla well enough from club football, and although he'd never crossed paths with Iniesta on the pitch, Spanish midfielders tended to share similar traits. He felt ready.
And truthfully—he was the only Chinese player with the ability to disrupt Spain's core.
"Wang Yi," Liu Hongbo continued, "you'll need to stay deeper and give us a stable outlet."
Wang Yi accepted the instruction without hesitation. Others had more pace and explosiveness, but his calm control, vision, and passing range made him ideal as the link between midfield and the forwards.
"Alright," Liu Hongbo concluded, "let's get out there. Training first, then we'll walk through the tactical patterns."
Chairs scraped back. Players headed for the pitch.
Kai had barely reached the doorway when Chen Man fell into step beside him.
"Spain's going to be a handful," Chen Man muttered, tension clear in his voice.
He feared Spain more than the Netherlands. Despite everything, nobody knew which version of Spain would show up.
Kai inhaled deeply and shrugged. "Don't overthink it. Two bad results can shake anyone. I've got a feeling they're still rattled."
"Indeed," Chen Man raised an eyebrow. "Casillas looks genuinely shaken. His performances have been… well, a mess. If he starts the third match…"
When their training wrapped up, Kai finally made it back to the room.
Wang Yi headed straight for the shower. Kai waited for the heat to fade from his skin before planning to take his turn.
Then—
his phone vibrated sharply on the table.
The screen lit up.
Kai glanced at the screen, sighed, and picked up anyway.
"Jonathan, you do realize I'm at the World Cup, right?"
He switched to English as he answered.
On the other end, agent Jonathan Barnett let out a strained chuckle.
"I know, I know. But I've got something urgent, and you need to hear it."
Kai raised an eyebrow. Barnett didn't call like this without reason.
"Chelsea reached out," Barnett said. "And the offer this time… it's massive."
Kai laughed lightly. "How massive?"
"Top earner at the club, performance bonuses, the works. Your weekly wage would multiply several times."
Kai blinked. "They're willing to throw that much money around?"
"That's not all," Barnett continued. "They're ready to trigger your release clause if Arsenal refuse to negotiate."
Kai fell silent for a moment.
"My release clause is a hundred million pounds."
"Yes," Barnett replied with a helpless sigh. "And they're willing to pay it."
In an era before the explosion of nine-figure transfer fees, a €100 million move would shake the entire football world. Chelsea weren't just interested—they were going all in.
"Mourinho again?" Kai asked.
"No. This time it's the owner. Abramovich wants you."
Kai scratched the back of his head. "I didn't think I left that strong of an impression on him."
"No idea why," Barnett admitted. "But Abramovich met us personally. He laid out a long list of promises. If you agree, they want a letter of intent. And get this—if either side backs out, the one who withdraws pays fifty million."
Kai exhaled slowly. Chelsea weren't playing around.
But even with all that money, he didn't feel tempted.
Arsenal was home. He enjoyed every moment there.
"Help me turn them down," Kai said. "I'm not leaving."
Barnett let out a shocked breath. "Kai… this is basically one of the highest salaries in world football."
Kai smiled faintly. "And it doesn't make me feel secure. If I suddenly take the money and run to Chelsea, how do you think Arsenal fans will see me?"
He paused, then spoke more firmly.
"Jonathan, I'm the captain. Arsenal have gone through enough turmoil, and every time, the supporters suffer the most. I won't be another knife in their back. Not to the people who've stood behind me."
"Football isn't just about money. I'm not even talking about loyalty—it's about respect. Arsenal have taken care of me from day one. They made me captain at twenty-one. If I stay consistent, I'll wear that armband for the next decade."
"I'm the captain. I have no reason to walk away."
Barnett stayed quiet for several seconds before finally sighing.
"Alright. Just know this—you're giving up a guaranteed superstar contract."
Kai chuckled. "Superstars aren't made by hype. Win enough trophies, perform well every season—that's what builds a superstar. Not a flashy transfer."
Barnett shook his head, defeated.
"I'll talk to Wenger."
Kai shot back with a grin, "Let me guess—you're going to ask the Professor for more money?"
"Damn right! If Chelsea is offering that much, Arsenal should meet me halfway. And if they don't, you can fire me!"
And with that, Barnett hung up.
Kai lowered the phone and laughed to himself.
...
Elsewhere, Wenger picked up Barnett's call and didn't hesitate.
"After the World Cup, we'll prepare a new five-year contract for Kai," Wenger said simply. "He'll earn the same as Luis—the highest salary in the squad. And once the stadium debt is gone and the budget opens up, we'll improve that further."
He paused, then added:
"We can put every promise in writing."
...
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