Leandro Trossard, sat in front of his locker after Arsenal’s FA Cup fourth round loss to Man City, picked up his phone. “47 notifications? What’s that about?” the Belgian wondered aloud.

     “Mate, there’s all this talk of us signing Caicedo! What rock have you been under?” Ben White sat down to strip off his boots, socks, and shin guards. “It’s all anyone’s talking about. What d’you reckon?”

     “Ben, he’d be aces! I know Thomas escaped with just the rib injury, and I feel bad for Albert. He did his best, yes? But he’s not up for it just yet. It’s a big jump from the Jupiler Pro League—that’s the Belgian first division—anyway, it’s a big jump to the Prem. I struggled when I came over from Genk, and—”

“Mate, that’s perfect! Do you have Moises’ number? Ring him up straight away! He’s got to be feeling some doubts about this move, what with the numbers they’re tossin’ back and forth. I know full well that Brighton can drive a hard bargain. I know the pressure it can create. Can you reach him?”

     Trossard scrolled through his contacts until he found Caicedo. He texted, “Hey, Moises. Leandro here. Got a minute?”

     He and White waited anxious minutes. Would the Ecuadorian reply? The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed only to slow the passage of time. They each glanced up at it; in that moment, it seemed that the second hand froze before clicking ahead.

     “He’s answered!” Trossard exclaimed.

     White could scarcely contain himself. “What’s he said? C’mon!”

     “He says, ‘give me a minute.'”

     The two players, reunited only recently waited for anxious moments. Finally, after an agonisingly long delay, Trossard’s phone chimed.

     “Hey.”

     White couldn’t restrain himself. “MOISES!!! MATE! You have GOT to get over here! I’m telling you, I—”

     Trossard intervened. “Moises, I hate to rain on Ben’s parade, but you have got to get over here. I’ve not had a manager with Mikel’s vision. It’s…it’s really something. It’s on another level.”

     “Tross, I’m working on it. De Zerbi’s gone and frozen me out, just as he did to you. I don’t know what to do. They’re playing hardball.”

     White leaned in. “Mate, listen.”

     “Okay.”

     “You know what Brighton wanted for me?”

     There was a pause as Caicedo considered.

     “I’ll save you the expense. They wanted £50m. They insisted I wasn’t for sale. Guess what?”

     “What?”

      “Mate, look at where I am. At the Arsenal. Signing of the season, they’re sayin’. £50m.”

     There was a pause as Caicedo pondered this.

     “What do you think it’ll take for me to make this move? I don’t know if I can deal with four more months of all of this talk. It’s too much!” Caicedo’s anguish was real. 

     It was at this point that Trossard leaned in. “Mate, I was there. De Zerbi froze me out. You saw his words the other day? He’s ready to ‘move on’ without you. I’m starting to feel like you’re following in my footsteps.”

     “What’s he like? I see him on the sideline, jumping around and leaving the technical area. Does he—does he know what he’s doing?”

     White couldn’t resist. “Moises, listen to me. I’ve never had a manager like him. He…he sees the game in a way that I’ve not seen from another manager. Look: I’ve gone from one of the most over-priced transfers to one of the best transfers around. You know why? It’s down to him. He…he knows us. He knows the game. You come here, and you’ll be the next Kanté. Hell, you could displace Partey if he’s not careful. I’ve grown by leaps and bounds. Look at where we are, mate. We’re top of the league! We went into the Etihad with a rotated squad and could have won!”

     “Ben, hold off a sec,” Trossard interrupted. “Look, I know it’s no fun to be in De Zerbi’s doghouse. If you can make it over here—”

     Caicedo’s voice was rife with anguish. “I…I…look, I have family back home. I’m on £25k a week, and I know I should be happy about that, but there’s so much more I could do for my mum. I…”

     “Look, Moises. No one criticises you for your ambitions. Look at it from Brighton’s point of view, though. They’ve nabbed Ben here. They lost Graham. They lost yours truly. It’s gotta be tough to—”

     “I know. I know. I don’t—I don’t know…”

     White grabbed the phone from Trossard. “Moises, listen to me. This is the game they play. Clubs call for loyalty, but they’ll cast you off in a heartbeat. Arsenal aren’t just any club snatching up players left and right. They have a vision. I’m telling you. I’m miles ahead of where I was, miles ahead of where I thought I’d be!”

     It was Trossard’s turn to chime in. “Arteta’s the real deal. He has a vision of how to play. I’ve only been here a week or so, and I already feel something like what Ben’s saying. There’s something special going on here. It’s…what is the word? It’s…ineffable? It’s…for as good as they—for as good as we’ve been, I’m feeling like we’re only just starting to scratch the surface.”

     The line was silent. White and Trossard exchanged anxious glances. The clock ticked…and ticked…and ticked.

     “I’ll make it happen.”

     With that, the call ended.