Chapter 897: The Set Bar Now!

Saka’s voice carried over everything, mid-argument about something that probably didn’t matter.

"I’m just saying," he said, waving his fork for emphasis, "who even asked for the name change? Colney’s fine. Sobha Realty Centre or whatever sounds like a shopping mall."

A few players laughed, some agreeing, others too busy eating to care.

But the laughter dimmed a bit when the door opened and heads turned.

Izan stepped in, calm as ever, Miko padding along beside him with her tail brushing softly against his leg.

Saka froze mid-sentence, the fork that he was using for his illustrations in the air, still in his hand.

His expression shifted from surprise to disbelief.

"Oh hell no," he said, standing up.

A few snickers broke out around the room as he walked toward Izan, eyeing the dog like it had just walked in wearing a Tottenham kit.

"How’d you even get her in here? You know you need a pass, right? They made me go through three levels of approval last time I brought mine."

Izan smirked faintly.

"I just brought her."

"You just—" Saka shook his head, exasperated.

"Man, when I brought mine, they told me Arsenal already had a dog. Talking about ’Win’ like Arsenal could only have one dog as a mascot."

[A/N: So, for those who don’t know, Arsenal have a chocolate Labrador called Win, that was brought in, in hopes of raising player morale]

That drew a few laughs from the tables.

Someone muttered, "Win’s still around, right?" and another player added, "Barely. He’s retired."

Izan chuckled.

"So, no better welcome than that?"

Before anyone could answer, Nwaneri walked over, eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the fluffy Samoyed wagging at his feet.

"Wait, that dog looks familiar."

"It should," Izan said, looking down at Miko. "She’s the one I got matched with at the Purina event."

Nwaneri’s face softened. "Oh, right. You actually adopted her?"

Izan nodded. "Yeah. After everything."

He left it at that.

"Fair enough," Nwaneri said with a smile before crouching to give Miko a small pat on the head.

Miko turned her attention to Saka then, tail swishing like a ballad dancer.

The latter sighed, shaking his head with mock frustration before crouching down to scoop her up.

"You know what? I can’t even be mad at this face."

The room had just started to laugh again when the door swung open.

Arteta walked in, a cup of coffee in one hand and a stack of folders in the other.

His eyes landed on Saka, then the dog in his arms and Saka froze like a kid caught stealing biscuits.

"Morning, boss," he said carefully.

Arteta took a slow sip.

"Bukayo," he said, setting the cup down, "what’s the policy on dogs inside Colney?"

Saka didn’t hesitate.

He placed Miko back in Izan’s arms and took a step back.

"It’s not mine. It’s Izan’s."

Arteta’s gaze shifted toward Izan.

His brows rose a little, though there wasn’t any real surprise there.

"You adopted that one?" he asked, already knowing what had gone on.

Izan nodded once. "Yeah."

Arteta studied the dog for a second before stepping closer.

Miko, ever trusting, tilted her head as his hand reached out to brush her fur, then gave a soft wag of approval when he scratched under her chin.

"Well done," Arteta said simply, giving a small nod before turning and walking toward his office.

Saka watched him go, disbelief written all over his face, before breaking out just as Arteta was out of view.

"See? That’s what I’m talking about," he said loudly.

"Clear favouritism. If it were me, I’d be banned for a week. But no, Izan gets head pats for his dog."

The players burst out laughing again, some banging on the tables, others whistling at Saka’s dramatics.

Izan just shook his head with a faint smile, still holding Miko as she blinked up at him, clearly pleased with all the attention.

The laughter hadn’t quite died down when Izan called over one of the cafeteria staff passing by with a tray.

"Hey, you’ve got some Weetabix today, right?"

The woman blinked, surprised that of all things, he’d ask for that, then smiled.

"Yes, we do. A batch of fresh boxes just came in this morning, but we’ve been told not to give it to you too much."

Izan’s face lit up, and he clapped his hands once, almost childishly excited, earning a few amused looks from the nearby players.

"Perfect. You’re saving lives today," he said, grinning.

The room filled with laughter again.

For all his composure and maturity, moments like that reminded them that he was still seventeen.

A kid, really, hidden under the sharp edges of someone already carrying too much responsibility.

"Man’s excited about cereal," Saka muttered, shaking his head with a grin.

"Hey, don’t hate on the classics," Izan shot back, pulling out a chair while Miko sat obediently by his leg.

"What classics. You’ve been in London for just a year and now we’re talking about classics," Nwaneri replied, but Izan didn’t pay too much attention to him.

Breakfast rolled on in the usual hum of banter, and then not long after, it was time to get serious.

The players were on the pitch now, the early light cutting across the trimmed grass, boots tapping against the turf as they lined up in front of Arteta.

Arteta stood before them, clipboard in hand, the players waiting, eyes forward, the calm before the first whistle of the day.

He let his eyes move slowly over his players, that quiet, knowing smile tugging at his face.

"You know," he began, his tone calm but firm, "sometimes I think about what we did last season, and it still doesn’t feel real."

He took a small step forward, folding his arms as the player stared keenly at him and what he had to say.

"We started with the Carabao Cup, remember? Newcastle in the final. You fought for that one. Every tackle, every sprint, every second. That was the beginning."

He paused, the faint rustle of the grass filling the silence.

"Then came the Premier League. Unbeaten. Nobody believed it could be done until we did it. Liverpool, matchday thirty-five, the moment it all became official."

A few heads nodded, quiet smiles forming as flashes of that day returned.

"But you weren’t done," he said, voice rising a little.

"You went to Wembley and beat City to win the FA Cup. A domestic treble, the first in Arsenal’s history."

The players clapped lightly, but he raised a hand to stop them.

"You did that. Every single one of you."

He let that sink in before continuing, eyes flicking toward Izan.

"But then you went beyond that. Champions League winners. You broke curses, silenced stadiums, and turned doubters into believers."

Izan held his gaze for a second, quiet but proud.

"You turned us from the bottlers tag into champions. It was you that did it, all of you."

Arteta nodded once, then added, "And just a week and a half ago, you went to the Club World Cup and won it. The first ever in its new format, and you made it five trophies. A quintuple."

He let out a breath, shaking his head slightly.

"Now, one more waits for us. The Super Cup. Tottenham." His lips curved into a small grin.

"And I know there’s no way in hell we’re letting them take that from us. Any team could take it, but not that small club who claims to also be from North London"

A few laughs broke out, followed by a chorus of agreement.

"You’ve raised the bar," he said.

"And now the world wants to see you fall. But that’s fine. Let them. Because if we’ve learned anything, it’s that pressure is where we thrive."

He turned back to Izan, voice steady.

"You know what it’s like being the villain, don’t you? Breaking hearts. Shattering dreams. You thrive on that energy."

A ripple of laughter went through the group.

"Well," he said, "that’s what we’ll have to be this season. The villains. The ones nobody wants to face. Because that’s how champions stay champions."

He took a breath, scanning the team again.

"So, I’ll ask you... Are you ready?"

The response was instant, a thunderous "Yes!" that rolled through the training ground.

Before Arteta could speak again, two barks broke through the air.

Miko and Win, both on the sidelines, had decided to add their voices to the moment.

Win howled, Miko followed, and the players burst into laughter, the tension from the speech melting away.

Arteta shook his head, smiling despite himself.

"Alright, stretch with the coaches," he said, voice warm. "Let’s get started."

"I’ve already said it and I’ll say it again," Izan spoke, causing a few of the players to turn towards him.

"Arteta would have made a very good general."

The players broke off into small groups after that, the sound of laughter, barking, and boots brushing against grass filling the morning.