Chapter 198: A Super Soldier Is Born! Wenger: This Season's Premier League Title Is Mine!
"The Bayswater Chinese are unbelievably confident when they play at home."
In the visitors' dugout at Wembley Stadium, Wenger frowned as he leaned toward assistant coach Pat Rice.
There was a hint of helplessness in his voice.
Thirty minutes had passed, and Arsenal still hadn't found a way to crack the Bayswater Chinese's defense.
Wenger's side had taken the initiative right from kickoff, creating chance after chance.
They had even come close to scoring in the 18th minute.
But every time—just short by a hair.
And it was driving Wenger mad.
"I mean... 31 games—no, technically 29—and they've only conceded 17 goals," Pat Rice said, just as frustrated.
Manchester United were the second-best defense in the league, with 25 goals conceded.
That was already excellent.
But the Bayswater Chinese? Just 17 goals conceded.
They were also the highest-scoring team in the Premier League with 87 goals in 29 matches.
Many were already predicting that Yang Cheng's side could break the 100-goal mark by season's end.
22 wins, 5 draws, 2 losses in 31 rounds.
The biggest challenges for Yang Cheng this season had been multi-competition fatigue, and the transitional impact of selling four core players in the summer.
But looking at the season as a whole, their only losses were 1–2 away to United, and 0–1 away to Chelsea.
Both were high-level clashes—respectable defeats.
The Bayswater Chinese were the only team still competing on all fronts this season.
And they'd already lifted the League Cup.
"It's not just this season," Wenger said, shaking his head.
"The key is that over the past few years, they've never lost at home. That breeds incredible confidence."
"No matter how difficult the situation, they believe they can endure it and come out stronger."
Wenger sighed. His eyes were filled with admiration.
"Sometimes, belief like that is the most powerful thing in football."
Pat Rice nodded silently.
He was beginning to understand why Yang Cheng had cut ties with Andy Carroll so decisively.
If the Bayswater Chinese dressing room was a fortress, then Carroll had been a crack in the wall.
From the start, Arsenal had thrown everything at their hosts—varying tactics, attacking schemes.
But Yang Cheng's team had been pragmatic, even conservative.
Wenger's concerns weren't unfounded.
While he and Pat Rice were discussing tactics, the Bayswater Chinese suddenly launched a long ball from the back.
It landed perfectly in the final third.
Lewandowski dropped deep, shielding the ball from Koscielny, and brought it down on his chest.
All eyes went to the Polish striker.
But Wenger's instincts kicked in. He glanced toward the flanks—Bale and Walcott were both on the move.
He jumped up from his seat and shouted from the sideline:
"Watch Bale and Walcott!"
The Twin Lightning had surged forward without anyone noticing.
Unfortunately, this particular sequence didn't come off.
Lewandowski, under pressure from Koscielny, couldn't release the pass in time.
Bale and Walcott had already broken forward, but the Arsenal backline had stepped up together—offside.
So Lewandowski opted to go solo, turned, took a few steps, and unleashed a long-range strike.
No threat.
Still, Wembley responded with raucous applause.
It was encouragement. Loyalty. Passion.
Wenger paced the sideline, shouting at Toulalan, Clichy, and Sagna to track the flanks more aggressively.
But it wasn't just speed they had to worry about.
Arsenal had Aaron Lennon—another pace merchant.
But Bale? He was more complete, more explosive, better technically.
Walcott, similar in build to Lennon, was also more versatile—and far more intelligent with his runs.
He had sharper instincts in front of goal.
Wenger knew full well what Yang Cheng was up to.
And he knew how dangerous this team had become.
...
In the 31st minute, Sagna advanced up the right flank, signaling to his teammates that Arsenal were going to push forward.
But just as he crossed into enemy territory, a black blur came flying in.
Matuidi, with a crunching tackle, took down Sagna near the left side of the center circle.
Referee Howard Webb was nearby—he saw it all.
Sagna collapsed.
Matuidi hit the turf as well, but still managed to flick the ball toward Bale.
Arsenal players screamed for a foul—but Webb didn't blow his whistle.
Arsenal's defense scrambled to recover.
But Bale was off, already sprinting.
His speed increased with every step, charging into Arsenal's 30-meter zone in seconds.
Facing Chygrynskiy just outside the box, Bale kept going.
Chygrynskiy stood his ground—he had no room left to backpedal.
Then Bale exploded forward—sudden stop, planted his left foot, used the outside of his right to cut across Chygrynskiy.
One touch. Gone.
Bale darted across, chased down the ball again, and unleashed a right-footed rocket.
It soared over Lloris, who hadn't made it back to cover fully.
The ball smacked into the top-right corner of the net.
1–0!
Wembley erupted!
Fans leapt from their seats, roaring Bale's name.
The Welshman wheeled away, sprinting to the touchline to celebrate.
"A phenomenal goal!"
"31st minute—Bayswater Chinese break through Arsenal's defense!"
"Gareth Bale, cutting inside from the left and blasting it with his right foot!"
"That's right—the man known for his left foot just scored with his right!"
"Nobody saw that coming!"
"Even Chygrynskiy must've been stunned—he didn't expect Bale to fire with his weaker foot!"
"But this isn't the first time Bale has done this!"
"He's not just fast—he's evolving into a complete super soldier!"
"That's already his 14th Premier League goal of the season!"
"This 20-year-old is rapidly evolving into a truly outstanding goal scorer!"
"And this season, more than any other, he's shown signs of transformation—steadily improving his game."
All around Wembley, chants of Gareth Bale echoed through the stands.
The Welshman stood near the edge of the pitch, arms outstretched, soaking in the roar of 90,000 fans.
He was loving every second.
A product of Southampton's youth academy, Bale had joined the Bayswater Chinese in 2005. Over the past five seasons, he had climbed steadily, improving step by step each year.
And it was all thanks to the club's trust, development, and support.
Especially from manager Yang Cheng.
Here, Bale received treatment that most professionals could only dream of.
He loved the team. He loved the fans.
After his celebration, Bale pulled at the club crest on his chest and kissed it hard, lifting his right hand high in the air.
That was his message to the fans—to the club: This is where I belong.
The gesture sent the crowd into even louder cheers.
They adored him.
The Bayswater Chinese had sold many stars over the years.
So it was only natural that fans worried:
Would Bale and Walcott be sold someday too?
But now—Bale had made his feelings clear.
He loved this club.
...
Yang Cheng stood at the home technical area, smiling as he watched it all unfold.
He turned to a beaming Brian Kidd and said,
"You were right, Brian."
"He really is more suited to the left."
Kidd grinned from ear to ear.
"No, Yang—you weren't wrong either."
The two exchanged a high-five and shared a laugh.
Originally, Yang Cheng had planned to mold Bale into a right winger—something akin to Cristiano Ronaldo's career arc.
Ronaldo: a right-footed player who played on the left as an inverted winger.
Bale: a left-footed player—potentially devastating from the right in similar fashion.
And truth be told, Bale had done well on the right too.
Even scoring a screamer against Real Madrid.
But Kidd had pointed out something important:
Bale didn't enjoy playing on the right.
He had seen it in training. In conversations. In matches.
And on the left?
Bale wasn't just a one-dimensional winger.
He could cut inside and shoot—dangerously so.
Everyone who's played the game knows:
Left-footers struggle to shoot from the left side of the goal.
Right-footers from the right.
That's why inverted wingers became the trend.
Ronaldo, Messi, Salah—classic examples.
Yang Cheng had tried the same with Bale.
But he and his staff soon realized:
Bale could still be lethal on the left.
All he needed was the space to shoot.
From the left side of the box, he could generate lightning-quick, high-quality strikes into the far corner.
He even had a bizarre knuckleball-like shot.
That thunderbolt against Real Madrid?
Fans in Yang Cheng's previous life called it a "butterfly shot."
So, after Kidd's advice, Yang Cheng sat down with Bale.
They made a new plan:
Keep him on the left. Focus on building his right foot.
Turn him into a more complete goal threat.
Now?
Anytime Bale had a window within 30 meters—he had the freedom to shoot.
That was Yang Cheng's tactical gift to him.
And it wasn't just Bale.
Walcott, too.
Yang Cheng envisioned a front line of Bale, Lewandowski, and Walcott—
A free-roaming trident without fixed positions or rigid roles.
All three had maximum tactical freedom.
Yang Cheng believed their blend of intelligence, explosiveness, and instinct would make any defense in Europe tremble.
Because how could you stop them?
Take Chygrynskiy, for example.
Faced with Bale one-on-one, what do you even do?
If you block the run down the line, Bale cuts inside and shoots with his right.
That right foot wasn't as deadly as Ronaldo's yet—but he was working on it.
If you guard the inside?
He bursts forward, creates separation, and lashes one in with his left.
It was Bale's specialty.
A nightmare for defenders.
If Yang Cheng's vision came to life, Bale and Lewandowski could even switch roles mid-match.
Because Bale also had strength and aerial ability.
Once that front three hit peak form?
All the midfield had to do was feed the cannon.
And if Yang Cheng could just sign Toni Kroos, he'd complete his dream midfield triangle.
And then?
He wanted to see who in Europe could stop them.
...
Despite conceding, Arsenal kept pushing.
Wenger urged his players to get one back before halftime.
But the Bayswater Chinese stuck to their plan—solid defense, rapid counters.
Yang Cheng's strategy was simple but effective.
Arsenal had no answers.
In the 42nd minute, Lewandowski fouled Chygrynskiy while pressing up front.
The Ukrainian had become one of Arsenal's key defenders.
Wenger had five quality center-backs: Vermaelen, Chygrynskiy, Koscielny, Kolo Touré, and Gallas.
All were performing well.
But Vermaelen, Chygrynskiy, and Koscielny were his handpicked future core.
Among them, Chygrynskiy was the best passer.
Lewandowski's foul broke up what looked like a promising Arsenal counter.
Lloris ran out of his box, urged teammates to push forward, and teed up a quick restart.
His long ball soared down the left flank—Bayswater's right side.
Benzema sprinted wide, anticipating the trajectory and establishing position.
But just as the ball dropped, the Frenchman felt a massive push from behind...
When Benzema turned his head, all he saw was Pepe's massive, towering frame.
The Brazilian-born Portuguese international timed his jump perfectly, muscling Benzema aside and heading the ball toward the right flank.
The French striker didn't even get off the ground.
Piszczek charged forward, reached the ball under pressure from Arsenal players, and swept it sideways with the inside of his right foot into open space.
Modrić surged forward, latched onto the pass, and with his right foot, played a lightning-quick through ball.
The ball zipped across the turf, slicing through Arsenal's midfield, then piercing the gap between Clichy and Chygrynskiy, rolling straight into the right side of the box.
A collective gasp filled Wembley.
What a pass!
Walcott had already peeled off Clichy and was now accelerating into the space.
The English winger turned into a red blur, streaking down the right like lightning.
Koscielny, one of Arsenal's fastest defenders, was already backtracking from his deep position.
And yet, in front of 90,000 fans, everyone watched as Walcott gained… and gained…
Until he passed him.
Goosebumps.
Every person in the stadium could feel it—something special was happening.
Walcott sprinted past Koscielny, controlled the ball, and entered the box—but didn't shoot.
Koscielny was tight to his left side.
Lloris was stationed at the near post.
No angle to shoot.
But Walcott wasn't panicking.
He angled his body left, shielding the ball with his body.
Then, suddenly, he stopped dead and dragged the ball back with his right, sending it behind him into the center of the box.
Koscielny, blindsided, tried to stop—he barely kept his footing, but couldn't adjust fast enough to cut off the pass.
The ball slid right beneath his nose.
And Walcott?
He spun, darted in behind, chased down his own ball, and—without hesitation—hammered it with his left.
Low. Fierce.
Straight into the bottom-left corner.
Lloris dove, but he was never getting there.
GOAL!!!
42nd minute — 2–0 to the Bayswater Chinese!
"Another stunning counterattack!"
"A brilliant finish from the Little Tiger — Theo Walcott!"
"Two-nil! Arsenal are in deep trouble now!"
"The Bayswater Chinese have played a more conservative, counter-attacking game tonight."
"But the interesting part? Both goals came from wingers — and neither with their dominant foot!"
"How unusual!"
"Gareth Bale, the left-footed left winger, scored with a right-footed strike."
"Now Walcott, the right-footed right winger, scores with his left!"
"You have to say — the Bayswater Chinese wingers are incredibly complete."
"No wonder Arsenal's defense is under so much pressure!"
"Wenger must come up with something in the second half — and fast!"
...
"He's definitely going to make changes," Yang Cheng told his staff as they returned to the dressing room with a 2–0 lead.
"I wouldn't be surprised if he starts subbing players at halftime."
He was very pleased with his side's first-half performance — but far from relaxed.
Because Wenger had options.
Nasri, Gourcuff, Aaron Lennon — all on the bench.
Any one of them could swing the match.
"We've done great," Yang Cheng told the team. "Arsenal may have had the ball, but they never really controlled the match."
The Gunners had possession—but not dominance.
In terms of clear-cut chances? The Bayswater Chinese had more.
That's what Yang Cheng meant when he said Arsenal never controlled the game.
But if Wenger wanted to turn things around, he'd have to act—either via tactics or personnel.
And most likely? Substitutions.
Yang Cheng guessed Wenger would do it at halftime.
Down 2–0, time was running out. He had to go all in.
Who could say they'd score two goals away to the Bayswater Chinese in one half?
Well...
Okay—David Moyes could say it.
Back in Matchday 30, Everton had scored twice in three minutes at Wembley.
Didn't even need a whole half.
But Yang Cheng doubted Wenger would gamble like that.
Would the Bayswater Chinese make the same mistake twice?
No chance.
"Listen up, guys!"
Yang Cheng gathered the team close.
"Tonight isn't just about beating Arsenal."
"This is about the Premier League title!"
Arsenal were five points ahead — but Yang Cheng still had two games in hand.
If they won both, they'd go one point clear.
Wenger knew this.
That's why he wanted to win this match at Wembley — to extend the lead to eight points.
A cushion even the Bayswater Chinese would struggle to overcome.
With only six rounds remaining, that would practically seal the title.
Yang Cheng knew Wenger's mindset, and that's why he'd gone with a counter-attacking setup.
"I know you're tired. I know it's been a hard season."
"But it's because it's hard—because it's not easy—that it's worth fighting for!"
"We're the Bayswater Chinese."
"We don't fear challenges."
"We don't bow to pressure."
"Not here. Not in our house!"
His words hit home.
At home, the Bayswater Chinese had never lost.
They had already surpassed Mourinho's legendary home unbeaten run at Chelsea.
Now, this was their fortress.
And they were defending it — with pride.
Yang Cheng had spent years turning the Bayswater Chinese's home ground into an unbreakable fortress.
When fans walked into this stadium, they expected a win.
When players stepped onto the pitch, they carried the belief that they could crush any opponent.
"Finally, I just want to say—go out there, finish off Arsenal, and take the title that belongs to us!"
As he finished speaking, Yang Cheng clenched his right fist, his jaw tight with determination.
The players around him were visibly fired up.
...
Yang Cheng was wrong about one thing:
Wenger didn't make any changes at halftime.
Only tactical tweaks.
Which made sense.
Just as Yang Cheng tried to read Wenger's mind—Wenger was doing the same to him.
But with the Bayswater Chinese sticking to their first-half tactics after the break, Arsenal couldn't shift the momentum.
No subs meant no shake-up.
So the game continued just as it had—Arsenal holding possession, the Bayswater Chinese defending with discipline.
Each side getting what they wanted.
Everything remained stable until the 58th minute, when Modrić played a through ball down the right channel.
Walcott tried to sprint through but was clipped by Clichy, who committed a tactical foul.
A free kick for the Bayswater Chinese, about 30 meters out and right of center.
Too far for a direct shot.
Gianni Vio sprang from the bench.
Even if this Italian set-piece guru had lost a bit of his magical aura this season, his presence still earned cheers from the home fans.
Modrić placed the ball and raised his right hand.
The Bayswater Chinese loaded the box with their best aerial threats—Pepe, Matić, Thiago Silva, and even Bale, known for his heading ability.
As Howard Webb blew his whistle, Modrić ran up and delivered a beautiful curling ball into the left side of the penalty area.
A crowd surged to meet it.
Suddenly, Pepe leapt above everyone near the corner of the six-yard box.
He met the ball cleanly with a powerful header toward the far post.
Lloris, reacting fast, dove and got a hand to it—tipping the ball wide.
But he crashed hard into the turf, and the ball was still in play.
Then—another red blur flashed into the frame.
Near the right corner of the six-yard box, Thiago Silva smashed the rebound into the net.
He didn't even hesitate—just turned and ran.
3–0!
The entire Wembley crowd erupted like a volcano.
Everyone could see the number on the back of the jersey: #4 — Thiago Silva.
The Brazilian defender sprinted to the stands and celebrated with a knee slide, arms raised toward the roaring fans.
On the sideline, Yang Cheng clenched his fists, barely able to contain his excitement.
The moment that ball hit the net—he knew:
This match was ours.
...
Wenger stood on the touchline, stunned.
For a second, he looked completely hollow—like someone had sucked the life out of him.
He knew:
If they couldn't at least equalize, this match meant the end of Arsenal's title hopes.
And he hated it.
He knew he wasn't inferior to Ferguson.
He believed he was just as talented as Guardiola.
He was proud of the beautiful football his teams played—no worse than the Bayswater Chinese.
So why couldn't he win the league?
He couldn't accept it.
In the past, he could blame budget constraints.
He could console himself by saying he was protecting the club's future.
But now?
He had money. He had players. He had full control of the squad.
No more excuses.
His thoughts racing, Wenger's gaze changed from lost to determined.
Energy surged back into him.
He was not giving up.
He stormed to the touchline, shouting to his bench.
Nasri and Gourcuff, who had been warming up, sprinted over.
Wenger had already planned to sub them in around the 60th minute—he knew the Bayswater Chinese were tired.
He was counting on it.
After all, they'd played more matches, carried heavier pressure, and had a thinner squad.
He'd planned to strike once they were worn down.
Two goals? He believed it was still possible.
But now?
They were down three.
Still, Wenger had faith in his French duo.
He subbed out Alex Song for Gourcuff, and Benzema for Nasri.
The goal?
Control the midfield. Spark the attack.
Then, Wenger turned and locked eyes with Yang Cheng across the pitch.
There was a fire in his stare.
"I haven't been this close to the title in years."
"This Premier League crown is mine. No one is taking it from me."
...
After the substitutions, Arsenal launched a full-scale assault.
Suddenly, the Gunners took full control of the pitch.
A complete reversal from the opening hour.
And Wenger's gamble paid off fast.
In the 67th minute, Nasri threaded a pass to Van Persie, who was facing away from goal inside the box.
The Dutchman turned and hit a first-time volley.
It was fast. Accurate. Clean.
Even Thiago Silva couldn't close it down in time.
Neuer couldn't stop it either.
Goal. 1–3.
Wenger jumped, fists pumping on the sideline, urging his team forward.
Yang Cheng saw the danger and reacted immediately.
Ramsey came on for Walcott.
The Bayswater Chinese dropped into a 4-1-4-1 shape.
Matić stayed as the sole pivot.
Ramsey shifted to the right wing to help Piszczek.
Bale dropped back on the left to cover for Marcelo.
In the center, Matuidi and Modrić anchored the midfield.
A clear signal: defensive reinforcement.
Because a fired-up Arsenal was genuinely scary.
If this had been a fresher Bayswater side, Yang Cheng might've gone blow for blow.
But not tonight.
If they overcommitted now, they'd be asking for trouble.
Even with the changes, Arsenal kept pressing the right flank hard—especially through Nasri.
He was giving Marcelo fits.
In the 71st minute, Nasri passed back to Sagna, who whipped in a cross.
Van Persie met it, but under Silva's pressure, his header lacked power.
Neuer claimed it easily.
Still, it was a warning shot.
Then, just two minutes later, Nasri ghosted into the box, met an Arshavin cutback, and struck it clean.
Neuer dove—and saved it.
But it was close.
Twice, Nasri had created chaos.
Twice, he had rattled the Bayswater Chinese's back line.
Yang Cheng made his second substitution in the 75th minute: Ryan Bertrand came on for Marcelo, with Gareth Bale pushed forward to cover the flank.
That move barely stabilized the left side. Nasri's threat was finally contained.
Bertrand had both the physique and pace, and he defended solidly.
With Matić shielding the back line, and the center backs holding strong, Arsenal still had trouble breaking through.
And up ahead, Matuidi and Aaron Ramsey were sweeping up second balls and closing gaps all over.
Speaking of Ramsey, Yang Cheng was liking him more and more.
The Welshman was improving at an astonishing rate, and he could run all day—and run fast.
As a midfielder, he could pass, dribble, shoot, defend—he was the total package.
At just 19 years old, he already had elite stamina. On average:
1.2 successful dribbles per game2.9 ball recoveries per game1.6 key passes per game
A true box-to-box, two-way midfielder.
But what impressed Yang Cheng the most?
His passing numbers had exploded this season:
Overall pass success rate: 90%100% in the defensive third — he practically never misplaced a pass in his own half93% in the middle third83% in the attacking third84% on long passes50% on crosses
His only real weakness? Through balls, with just a 25% success rate.
As a comparison:
Fàbregas (Arsenal): 30%Modrić: 44%
But in other passing metrics, Ramsey already outshined Fàbregas:
Fàbregas attacking third: 70%Middle third: 87%Defensive third: 96%Long passes: 68%Crosses: 18%
However, Fàbregas had higher numbers in:
1.9 dribbles per game5.2 ball recoveries per game3.5 key passes per game
And of course, Fàbregas had more goals.
But let's not forget:
Fàbregas was born May 4, 1987.
Ramsey was born December 26, 1990.
That's a difference of three and a half years.
So yes, Yang Cheng had every reason to be excited about Ramsey's future.
This Welsh gem had already far exceeded expectations.
In Yang Cheng's previous life, Ramsey's career had been derailed by a horrific leg break.
But in this life, he avoided that injury.
And now?
He was developing faster and stronger than Yang Cheng could've ever hoped.
He was only 19.
The coaching staff at the Bayswater Chinese rated him exceptionally high.
He was improving year by year.
Most importantly, his outstanding passing was a result of his constant movement and work rate.
He was always in space.
Always available.
Add to that his technique, vision, and efficiency, and he was becoming the perfect engine.
His weaknesses—experience and tactical awareness—would only improve with time and games.
Where would Aaron Ramsey end up in the future?
Even Yang Cheng couldn't say.
But he knew one thing:
Ramsey was destined to be the beating heart of his midfield.
...
Wenger watched in frustration as Nasri cut inside from the right and tried a shot at the edge of the D—
Only for Ramsey to block it with his body.
The Welshman had broken up yet another Arsenal attack.
And Wenger?
Felt a pang in his chest.
That kid... he wanted him first.
But Yang Cheng had gotten there faster.
It was clear now—Yang Cheng was all in on Ramsey, regularly starting or subbing him in.
Another youngster Yang Cheng was developing? Paul Pogba.
The French prodigy was also getting more and more chances.
Wenger grew increasingly agitated.
Where was Yang Cheng finding all these gems?
Sure, Ramsey was a known British talent, and Pogba had a reputation in French youth circles—
But N'Golo Kanté?
That undersized midfielder was fast, relentless, everywhere.
Wenger didn't even know what to think anymore.
The Bayswater Chinese were terrifying.
A stacked first team.
A youth team brimming with potential.
How could anyone stop them in the future?
Worse yet, Wenger had to watch as Yang Cheng's substitutions stabilized the match.
Arsenal's momentum vanished.
It stung.
If they lost this game, would the title slip away?
But Wenger wasn't the kind to give up easily.
The disappointment—he buried it deep.
Because this season?
Wasn't over yet.
...
This blockbuster showdown finally ended with a one-on-one from Arshavin.
He latched onto a through ball from Clichy, beat Piszczek, and broke into the box.
But Pepe cut off the angle.
Arshavin got a shot off—but Neuer smothered it.
Then referee Howard Webb blew the final whistle.
3–1. Bayswater Chinese defeat Arsenal at Wembley!
Wembley exploded into a sea of celebration.
Fans chanted, sang, and cheered in unison.
Arsenal players walked off with their heads down.
It wasn't the end of the title race—
But it was a huge blow.
For the Gunners, it felt like they'd just lost the initiative.
Yang Cheng, all smiles, shook hands and hugged his assistants, then strolled over to the visiting bench.
It was only polite.
Pre-match and post-match handshakes were standard.
"Thanks for going easy on us, Professor," Yang Cheng grinned, extending his hand.
Wenger gave a half-hearted shake.
"You're really insufferable when you win, you know that?"
Yang Cheng grinned wider.
Because if Wenger didn't hate him—
That meant he lost.
Yang Cheng loved it when Wenger was irritated.
"Don't get ahead of yourself," Wenger warned.
"We'll fight until the very end."
It was just a setback.
If the Bayswater Chinese slipped in their remaining catch-up games, Arsenal could still win the title.
"Oh, and by the way," Wenger added,
"Thanks for the reminder. Fàbregas has agreed to a contract extension."
Yang Cheng's eyes widened.
"Seriously?"
Wenger nodded, finally finding something to smile about.
"When did that happen?"
Yang Cheng hadn't heard a peep—not from the press, not from his own sources.
"Today. He told me himself."
Yang Cheng cursed inwardly.
No wonder.
"So... how much are you paying him now?" he asked, fishing for info.
That kind of detail was surely confidential.
Wenger, naturally, wouldn't spill.
But Yang Cheng couldn't resist fishing for scraps—
Any clue could help him set benchmarks for his own squad.
"I'll just say this," Wenger replied smugly,
"It's not as high as you were offering."
Yang Cheng blinked.
Wait... how much did I offer?
Oh right—£200,000 per week.
Dammit!
So Wenger had delayed the renewal just to keep salaries under control?
Even after getting new financial backing?
"I hate guys like you," Yang Cheng thought.
"Richer than me, but even more frugal."
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