By: Akinde S. Oluwaseun

Morning presser at Kirkby. Coffee bitter, mics squeal. Arne Slot strolls in, jacket half-zipped. First question lands: “Who scares you most this season? Arsenal again?”

He barely blinks. “Chelsea,” he mutters. One word, drops like a brick.

Reporters trade looks. Weren’t the Blues only fourth last May? Yep. Slot shrugs. “I tipped ’em last year, still do. Depth’s insane, goalkeeper, midfield, the lot. And Maresca—smart bloke—already lifting cups.” His English wobbles on that last bit; adds charm, really.

Someone pushes back: “So Arsenal not in the picture?” He smiles thin. “Good side, sure. But Chelsea got gears. When they click, they fly.” Quick hand gesture, whoosh. Conversation moves.

Liverpool, champions under Slot’s rookie campaign, open their defence versus Bournemouth on Friday night. Anfield almost sold out. Red scarves ready. But, in the manager’s head, it’s cobalt blue shadows he sees creeping up the table.

Outside, drizzle starts, typical Merseyside. Inside, headlines write themselves. Gooners grumble online, Blues fans screenshot receipts, Reds just grin—another season of drama loading.

Kick-off can’t come soon enough, yeah?