After Wenger's last accusation, which left the entire Arsenal board speechless and ultimately led to his departure, the pressure truly fell on Gazidis, Kroenke, and Finance Director Huss. Their shame towards Wenger was transformed into a make-or-break motivation.
In the two weeks following that meeting, they had only one goal: to open up as many funding sources as possible for the upcoming summer transfer window, especially for Oliver's over 100 million euro transfer fee, while adhering to the Premier League's Financial Fair Play (FFP) rules.
The effort this time was unprecedented in many years. The general changes included Arsenal canceling some planned signings for the summer window, having some sponsors pay funds in advance, and even preparing a contingency plan to offload some high-wage, low-performing players during the summer window. Furthermore, they informed Wenger that if Arsenal succeeded in finishing in the top four this season, the loan secured by pledging the Champions League qualification would also be used for Oliver's signing. All in all, the funds Arsenal could utilize in the summer window approached a very substantial figure.
When this brief report was delivered to Wenger, the old man looked at the key data points and progress listed on it and remained silent for a long time. He took off his glasses, rubbed his brow, and finally let out a long sigh. Although the target amount this time was huge and challenging, the determination and executive posture shown by the management finally allowed the 69-year-old meritorious coach to see a long-awaited glimmer of hope. The club finally seemed willing to invest the corresponding cost and effort for success on the competitive front.
"How many years has it been…" Wenger murmured with emotion.
...
In the Bundesliga, Hoffenheim continued their hot streak, hosting Hannover 96 in the next League match with high morale, ultimately securing a dominant 4-1 victory. Oliver contributed one goal and two assists in the match, showcasing his sharp talent. Following that, in an away challenge against Hertha Berlin, the Hoffenheim squad once again displayed their strong capabilities, securing a clean 3-0 victory.
Although Oliver didn't score in this match, he once again delivered a precise assist. These two victories solidified Hoffenheim's position in the standings, and Oliver's consistently stable, even improving, performance made the focus of European football even more intense.
So far this season, whether in the domestic League, the German Cup, or the glittering Champions League, as long as Oliver played, his name has never been absent from the list of key contributors. He still topped both the Bundesliga and Champions League scoring charts. Those previous remarks questioning the "inflated stats" of his dual top scorer titles have now completely vanished. Oliver shut everyone's mouths with one solid, efficient, and even decisive performance after another.
The next round was the Champions League, and the entire Hoffenheim team was intensifying their preparations at the training base. On a normal training day afternoon, as the training session was nearing its end, an assistant coach jogged over and said something to Nagelsmann. After listening, Nagelsmann quickly walked over to Oliver, who was stretching on the sidelines.
"Oliver," Nagelsmann's voice was lowered, carrying a hint of imperceptible solemnity, "Stop what you're doing for a moment, and come to my office, immediately."
Oliver paused, a bit surprised by the coach's sudden interruption and slightly serious tone: "Okay, coach."
He immediately stood up and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Walking towards the office building, Nagelsmann explained as he walked, his pace quick, "Just now, Mr. Wenger from Arsenal, he made an urgent video call request, specifically asking to speak directly with you."
Upon hearing that name, Oliver's eyes widened, and the image of the white-haired, scholarly coach appeared in his mind. After the two arrived at the office, Nagelsmann opened the door for Oliver and said, "Oliver, this conversation is very important for you and for the club's future arrangements, go ahead, talk to Wenger alone, I'll give you space."
Nagelsmann's tone carried full support and a sense of high expectations, and after giving Oliver his instructions, he withdrew. Oliver pushed open the door to the head coach's office; in the large room, only a large screen in front of the conference table was lit. The screen clearly displayed the image of an old man, none other than Arsène Wenger.
Oliver had seen Professor Wenger's face in football news before. But the Professor now looked indeed more tired than usual, with deeper lines around his eyes and an undeniable weariness in his demeanor. However, when Wenger saw Oliver appear on the screen, his deep eyes immediately lit up, and the corners of his mouth naturally turned upwards, revealing his usual friendly, gentle, and even scholarly smile. The office was so quiet that the faint hum of the central air conditioning could be heard.
"Oliver," Wenger's voice came through the microphone, with a bit of static, but the tone was still warm,
"Hello, I am Arsène Wenger, and I apologize for interrupting your training time." Wenger's English was very pure, with no discernible accent.
Oliver adjusted his breathing slightly to calm himself down, and bowed slightly towards the screen: "Hello, Professor Wenger. It's an honor to speak with you." Oliver's tone was very respectful; he had been looking forward to this conversation with Wenger.
"Please sit, my boy," Wenger gestured,
"I'll be direct. We know you've expressed your desire to join Arsenal through your agent and the club. This truly made me… very surprised. Frankly, at my age, hearing a player like you actively choose Arsenal, this feeling is very special."
He paused, seemingly weighing his words,
"But I still want to know, why? When there are so many better options available to you in this world, why choose Arsenal? Is there anything special about it for you?" Wenger's gaze, gentle yet insightful, penetrated the screen and fell upon Oliver.
Oliver did not evade at all; he was very direct: "Professor Wenger, I have two very important reasons. First, it's about my studies." He looked earnestly at the old man on the screen, "I have passed the preliminary application review for Imperial College London, based on my previous academic background and predicted grades. But as you know, formal admission requires obtaining my German Abitur results." He straightened his back slightly,
"I will take the exam in May, and I am confident in my academic abilities. If my scores meet the requirements, I hope to continue my studies in London. Arsenal's Colney Base is very close to Imperial College, which is crucial for me to balance football and my studies."
Wenger nodded gently, his eyes showing understanding and even a hint of approval: "Ah, I see. Balancing academics and football, that is indeed a rare challenge and a valuable experience for a young person. Arsenal has always had a fine tradition of supporting players in their further education in this regard."
"Thank you for your understanding, Professor." Oliver continued, his tone becoming steady and firm,
"But that's not all, or rather, it's not the most important reason. The most important reason concerns… what kind of story I want to write." His gaze was fervent, carrying the sharpness unique to a 17-year-old and a huge aspiration for the future.
Wenger did not speak, simply leaned forward slightly, listening intently.
"Professor Wenger," Oliver's voice echoed clearly in the office, "Places like Real Madrid, Barça, Bayern, or Manchester United… they are indeed great. They are already glorious powerhouses. If I went there, I know I would become just another name in their illustrious history, a footnote adding to their glory. Yes, I might win many trophies, many."
He paused, seemingly confirming his thoughts, then his tone became even clearer: "But that's not what I crave. I don't want to merely add bricks to an already built monument. I want to go to a place that needs to prove itself again, a place that needs someone to change, to create history, just like Leicester City's miracle, but I want more than just a fleeting moment. I want to rise from a low point or stagnation with a team, a group, and climb to new heights, becoming the core and soul of that team's revival. Creating a new dynasty would achieve my legend more than simply joining an existing top dynasty."
Oliver's voice carried sincerity, "Arsenal has a glorious past; I still remember the legend of that 'Invincible Season'. But I also know that in recent years… it has had difficulties, it is still searching for direction, and that is precisely what attracts me. Here, there is history, expectation, and even greater room for challenge. If I can succeed here, become part of the club's resurgence… Professor Wenger, that would mean something entirely different. I want to create my own place and status."
A brief silence fell in the office, and on the screen, Professor Wenger's expression froze for a few seconds. His eyes seemed to light up for an instant, then quickly softened. Wenger took a light breath, and the smile at the corner of his mouth deepened, but that smile seemed tinged with more complex emotions—a great touch, strong surprise, and deep, heartfelt admiration.
"Oliver Thorne," Wenger called Oliver by his full name. "Thank you… thank you for telling me all this so frankly. I've been coaching for decades, and I've heard many players talk about their future, about their ambitions. But what you just said… about 'my own story,' 'my own place'…" He slowly shook his head, his tone filled with admiration. "You've shocked me. At 17 years old, you can see so far, so clearly, so… extraordinary. Arsenal, as you said, is indeed a place full of stories and challenges. Your understanding of it and your self-positioning are far beyond my imagination. This… is truly remarkable."
Wenger's emotions seemed to be ignited by Oliver's words. He straightened his back, no longer looking as tired as he had at the beginning of the video call.
"So, since you have chosen the potential location where this story will unfold, I must tell you how we intend to write it." His tone became focused and powerful.
"Oliver," Wenger's eyes sharpened, "Arsenal's goal, or rather, my goal, has never been to be content with the status quo. We aspire to reclaim the Premier League throne, to have stronger competitiveness in the Champions League, and to bring back the long-lost glory to our fans! This requires time, strategy, and even more, the addition of talented players like you. My coaching has always been based on philosophy, technique, up-and-down coordination, and teamwork. If you join us, I will not restrict your creativity; on the contrary, I will guide it, allowing it to exert its maximum power within the team framework. You are very young, and your physical and technical malleability is extremely strong. I will tailor a position for you, just as I did for Henry, Fabregas, and Van Persie, to enhance your game reading ability, finishing efficiency, and stability under high pressure."
He paused, then added, "Especially at the tactical level, I am full of expectations for your potential to integrate into the team system. I believe my methods can help you achieve greater progress on the competitive level."
Oliver listened attentively, his gaze focused. Once Wenger finished speaking, he spoke again, this time with a clearer intention in his voice: "Professor Wenger, thank you for the blueprint you've outlined for me. I believe in your philosophy, and I believe in your ability to nurture young players; the whole world knows you are a true master in this regard. But…"
He hesitated slightly, then said with even greater determination, "I chose Arsenal not entirely because of the club itself, or merely because the universities in London are close by."
Wenger's expression on the screen changed slightly, showing confusion: "Oh? What other reasons are there?"
Oliver looked at the weathered, kind, yet somewhat weary face on the screen and said sincerely: "Professor Wenger, you are also an important reason for me joining Arsenal."
He clearly saw Wenger's eye twitch slightly. "I still remember when I was 5 years old, my parents and I first traveled to London, and the first match I watched live was at Arsenal's home stadium. I've learned about your story, about everything you've dedicated to Arsenal over these two decades. I know the regret and helplessness behind every 'Wenger-signed' player, and I know that with limited resources, you year after year bore immense pressure to lead the team into the Champions League spots; that was never just good luck. I also know… the helplessness and pain you felt in those years when you had to sell captains and core players." Oliver's voice was not loud, but every word was spoken with sincerity.
"You dedicated your prime years to Arsenal, endured too much grievance and criticism, but always remained steadfast, trying to protect the team's tradition and spirit. This is what I admire most about you."
The smile on Wenger's face disappeared. He listened quietly to Oliver's words, his eyes complex and difficult to read, his lips tightly pressed together.
"I know you are 69 years old this year." Oliver's voice carried undisguised respect and a hint of imperceptible sadness, "I think, at this stage of your coaching career, you should receive more rewards and not be left with more regrets. I chose Arsenal also to be one of the players you can rely on. In my future career, I want to do my part to help you, and at the same time, help Arsenal. I hope to play under your guidance, and I hope to become that core player who brings championships to Arsenal."
A long silence fell in the office. On the screen, Professor Wenger's eyes seemed to instantly mist over. He lowered his head slightly, reached out a hand, and very slowly took off his newly fitted glasses. The old man was getting old, and his eyes were indeed more prone to tears. Wenger's fingertips pressed firmly below his eye sockets, staying there for a long time, as if desperately trying to suppress some surging emotion. When he finally looked up again and put on his glasses, Oliver clearly saw that his deep-set eyes were slightly red.
The old man's Adam's apple bobbed up and down, as if he was struggling to swallow something that had surged up.
"Oliver…," Wenger's voice was hoarse, no longer having that metallic quality, but instead carrying a slight tremor,
"Your… your words, I… I don't know what to say." He took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice, but the profound depth of emotion he felt was still clearly discernible, "These words… this sentiment… I've been coaching for so many years, it's been too long… truly too long since I've encountered this. Thank you, Oliver, truly… thank you very, very much." He paused for a long time, as if gathering strength, and finally Wenger looked solemnly into Oliver's eyes and said with immense sincerity: "Everything you said… means a great deal to me."
Oliver saw the glimmer in Professor Wenger's eyes, a light that was not sadness, but hope. A warm current also surged within him.
"Oliver," Wenger finally spoke, his tone having regained its gentle and firm quality, but the flush around his eyes still lingered, "I believe you will surely achieve your goals, both academically and on the football field. Our understanding fills me with confidence for our future collaboration."
His voice regained its strength, "Alright, Oliver, continue to focus on your current season, stay focused, stay healthy. At Hoffenheim, no matter how far you go in the Champions League, give it your all. I'll be waiting for you at Colney. If you have any thoughts, feel free to contact me. I also wish you all the best in your upcoming exams, and I hope to see you in London this summer."
"Thank you, Professor Wenger." Oliver's tone also relaxed, with a sincere response,
Wenger also showed the most relaxed and heartfelt smile of the day, though the dampness in his eyes had not completely faded: "Keep working hard. The Champions League knockout stage is about to begin. I believe you will continue to shine."
"I certainly will, Professor. Please take good care of yourself too," Oliver said with concern.
The video call ended in a warm, hopeful atmosphere. Wenger sat alone in the empty conference room. The large screen in front of him had turned black, reflecting his own blurry silhouette. He sat for a long time, his fingers unconsciously tapping the edge of the table.
Oliver's frank words still echoed in his ears. Wenger gently closed his eyes, then slowly opened them again. Outside the window, the London sky began to darken, but in his eyes, a new light seemed to have ignited.
...
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