Football: Arsenal - Chapter 17: Back at the Dorm, Time to Open the System (Patreon)

The Champions League round-of-16 match was finally over. Spectators filed out, journalists departed, and the players gathered their belongings to head home.

But once everyone was aboard the team bus, it was clear that the celebrations were far from finished.

Outside, Arsenal supporters followed the bus, singing the club anthem at the tops of their voices. They waved flags and pursued it in their cars or on foot, determined to accompany their team all the way back to the club.

Inside, the players turned up the music and sang along. Most were hopelessly off-key, but that only made the atmosphere more exuberant.

Kieran was having more fun than anyone. He wandered from the front of the bus to the rear, microphone in hand, thrusting it toward random teammates and demanding solo performances.

While he was absorbed in the singing, several hands quietly produced champagne bottles they'd been keeping hidden. They shook them furiously.

Then, all at once, everyone aimed their bottles at the hero of the night.

Pop!

Golden champagne showered Kieran from head to toe.

“Surprise!”

“Didn't see that coming, did you?”

Giroud and Ramsey stood there grinning, each holding a bottle.

Earlier, in the dressing room, the players had restrained themselves so Kieran could make a good impression during his first encounter with the press.

They'd packed up all the champagne instead, saving the real celebration for the ride back.

Kieran wiped his face. His answer was immediate: he rummaged through somebody's bag, seized a champagne bottle and shook it as hard as he could.

Then he sprayed everyone in sight, like a garden sprinkler determined to share its blessings equally.

“Hahaha! Nobody gets away!”

From the front seat, Wenger turned sideways to watch his players chase one another through the bus, smiling and occasionally checking on Kieran.

The revelry lasted until the bus reached Arsenal's grounds.

Outside the entrance, supporters were waiting in their tens of thousands.

Normally, fans didn't turn out like this after a match. Never mind celebrating together: after years of poor results, a few had even begun calling for Wenger to leave.

“Wenger out!”

Those words had hurt a man who had devoted practically everything to Arsenal.

Of course, they had never been the prevailing sentiment. Wenger understood why the supporters were frustrated. The fact that so many still trusted him, even after seven trophyless years, meant calls for his dismissal remained relatively rare.

He supposed he ought to take comfort in that.

But when he looked outside now, he spotted a handmade sign:

“Wenger.

“Thank you.

“We're sorry.”

Only then did he recognize how much resentment and self-reproach he'd carried over the fans' complaints. Before those feelings could gather any force, though, they simply melted away.

Wenger remained his usual composed, graceful self. He opened the window and waved at the crowd.

Kieran immediately opened his own window and waved enthusiastically, setting off another tremendous roar.

Supporters reached up with paper, pens and shirts, asking for autographs. Kieran accepted each item, signed it and handed it back.

One by one, the other Arsenal players opened their windows, too.

The team and supporters shared an unspoken understanding not to linger too long. Soon, the crowd made a path for the bus so it could enter the grounds.

From all sides came delighted shouts.

“Kieran! Thank you!”

“Kieran! You were incredible today!”

“Kieran, don't put pressure on yourself! We'll always support you!”

There were cheers for the club and the other players as well.

With that outpouring of affection still echoing around them, the Arsenal bus finally drove through the gates.

When everyone had gathered in an open area near the training pitch, Wenger didn't make a speech. He simply clapped his hands.

“That's it. You're dismissed.”

“You've all worked hard today. Go home, have a good bath and get some sleep. We'll go over the match tomorrow, and I expect everyone to be on time.”

He smiled as he finished, and the entire group burst into cheers.

“Long live the Professor!” Kieran yelled first, raising both hands.

His teammates cracked up. Soon they were all following their resident troublemaker's lead.

“Long live the Professor!”

Before Wenger could react, Kieran stepped forward and wrapped him in a hug.

“Good night, Professor. Make sure you get some rest, too.”

“Good night, Kieran,” Wenger replied with a delighted smile.

The sight warmed the other players' hearts.

Before Kieran joined the first team, nobody had really taken the initiative to start something like that. Arteta wouldn't, partly because Vermaelen was still the club's first captain.

Vermaelen wouldn't either. He was quiet by nature, and injuries often kept him from holding a regular starting place.

Most of the players were earnest, respectful men. Around Wenger, they tended to show that respect by holding back both their words and gestures.

But once Kieran set an example, the others found it easy to follow. They came forward one after another, hugged Wenger and said, “Night, boss.”

Wenger could scarcely describe the feeling in his chest. He was long past the age for sentimentality—or so he thought.

Yet after a day of extraordinary highs and lows, ending on such a tender note, every hardship he had endured suddenly seemed worth it.

“All right, boys. Good night, and sweet dreams.”

This time, everyone went their separate ways. Some drove themselves home; others waited to be collected.

Kieran's situation was different.

Before his promotion to the first team, he'd been an academy player and lived in the dormitories at Arsenal's training base.

He had missed the first half of the season after striking his head against a post. Although he'd now returned to the pitch, he still hadn't moved out.

Arsenal's dormitories were excellent, and his accommodation was among the best: a private bedroom, living room and bathroom, all to himself.

So while everyone else headed home, Kieran strolled back to his room.

After showering and changing, he stretched out comfortably on the bed. At long last, he could investigate his system properly.

He'd never had the chance to examine it closely. Alone in his own space, he could explore without worrying about anybody seeing.

He tapped the system icon, and a panel appeared.

[Host: Kieran Lee]

[Club: Arsenal]

[Shirt Number: 10]

[Positions: Center-Forward / Left Winger / Right Winger]

[Height: 182 cm]

[Preferred Foot: Right]

Kieran had a sincere question: his preferred foot was his right? Then why had he scored two goals with his left earlier? That foot had seemed pretty useful, too.

Maybe his football technique was so poor that both feet were equally bad. If so, it was hardly surprising he couldn't tell them apart.

He flipped to the next page.

[Attributes (numbers in parentheses are the body's original attributes):]

[Shooting — 55 (95)]

[Heading — 70 (76)]

[Penalties — 30 (90)]

[Free Kicks — 19 (91)]

[Speed — 99]

[Anticipation — 86 (96)]

[Dribbling — 45 (92)]

[First Touch — 100]

[Passing — 63 (80)]

[Vision — 86 (93)]

[Defending — 30 (72)]

[Stamina — 96]

[Strength — 80]

[Mentality — 94]

[Leadership — 90]

No wonder Arsenal's Crown Prince had earned Wenger's confidence and been promoted directly to the first team at sixteen. The body's previous owner had possessed some astonishing attributes.

Shooting, anticipation and dribbling all in the nineties! As someone who'd played football video games, Kieran could hardly believe his eyes.

Unfortunately, that only made his current numbers look more miserable.

Dribbling in the forties, defending in the thirties, and free kicks at a pathetic nineteen. He could scarcely bear to look.

Thank goodness he'd discovered that other use for his first touch—an exploit in the system, really. Without it, relying on his present shooting and passing, he might have humiliated himself in front of the whole stadium.

He needed to train. Train seriously. Train like mad!

Not everything was terrible, though. Several of his current attributes actually surpassed the original values, especially his greatest strength: speed.

When he opened [Speed], it expanded into acceleration, speed with the ball, off-the-ball pace and several other impressive subcategories.

After examining his numbers, Kieran moved to another screen. Two icons were glowing.

[Timeless Training Room]

[Hall of Fame]

Huh? Hall of Fame? Where had that come from? He didn't remember seeing it before.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Kieran tapped the Hall of Fame.