The original version of this article first appeared on nytimes.com

For Andrea Pirlo, it was the satisfaction of a free kick, sweetly struck, sweeping “a couple of centimeters over” a defender’s head, beyond the goalkeeper’s despairing reach, whistling into the corner of the goal. There could be, he wrote in his autobiography, “no greater feeling in life.”

Dennis Bergkamp felt the same way about the perfect touch. He did not remember his most iconic moments—for the Netherlands against Argentina in the 1998 World Cup, his masterpieces against Leicester City and Newcastle for Arsenal—as goals, he said, but because of what happened a beat before, when he had cast a spell over the ball.

The goal was the consequence; the touch was the cause. In Bergkamp’s mind, that was what should be celebrated. That was what he remembered.

It is the sort of question that tends to be asked only of creative players, those who have not just excelled at the business of football—scoring goals and winning games—but have mastered the craft of it, elevated it into an art form: What is it that brings you most pleasure? Transient success, or something higher?

N’Golo Kante is not the sort of player who is routinely asked those sorts of questions. His job, after all, is not art: He is football’s ultimate artisan. He is what Eric Cantona once dismissed as a water-carrier: A player who does the running and the fetching and the retrieving. He does it all better than anyone else in the sport, but still: They are just the hard yards. The real magic is in the invention. Poets are allowed a process; stenographers are not.

His answer to the questions, though, is intriguing. What brings Kante, the Chelsea midfielder, the most satisfaction in football is not, as you perhaps would expect, the sense of having contributed, the warm glow of helping his teammates, seeing his altruism rewarded. It is not a perfectly-timed tackle, or an astutely-triggered counterattack. It is not even one of those rare moments when he pops up with a goal.

“It is not a special skill,” he said. “My favourite thing is when we lift a trophy. Afterward, we can have a picture of us lifting a trophy. And that picture shows a lot of work, a lot of difficulty, and a lot of sacrifice together. That is what it takes, to lift a trophy. From one picture, I can have many memories.”

N’Golo Kante’s favourite thing about football is the part where you win.

"

My favourite thing is the moment we lift a trophy and have our photo taken.

The photo would capture all the hard work, all the difficulty, all the sacrifice that went into lifting that trophy. From one photo, I can have many memories."

—N'Golo Kante shares what brings him the most satisfaction in football

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There are lots of stories about Kante. He has heard most of them.

Some of them are true: He does drive a somewhat sedate car, by football star standards. Some of them contain what is probably best described as a kernel of truth, like the one Olivier Giroud—his teammate on France’s victorious World Cup team—told on his behalf last year.

In Giroud’s telling, Kante was too “shy” to ask to hold the famous trophy aloft; instead, as his teammates celebrated on the field in Moscow, his teammate Steven Nzonzi had to ask that Kante be given his moment for posterity, too. “It wasn’t that,” Kante says now. “It has been changed a bit. I was just enjoying the moment. I was standing a little bit from the front when Hugo Lloris, the captain, started to lift the trophy. I was just waiting for my time. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to lift it.”

And other stories are, put simply, just not true, like the one that Jamie Vardy, a former teammate at Leicester City, introduced into folklore: That the 28-year-old Kante, not content with doing extra running work after training sessions, had at one point suggested that he might stop driving his Mini Cooper to training altogether and just run to work instead. “I did not,” Kante said, “go as far as that.”

"

I was just waiting for my turn. It wasn't that I didn't want to lift it.

I was standing a little bit from the front when Hugo Lloris started to lift the trophy. I was enjoying the moment."

—N'Golo Kante on the myth of him being too shy to ask to lift the trophy after winning World Cup 2018

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The reasons the stories go around, true or not, is because they fit Kante’s image. He is—if there is such a thing in a sport addled by tribal loyalty—universally popular, the sort of player who can be named in the investigations of the Football Leaks whistle-blowing website and yet come out with his reputation enhanced.

He was a late bloomer, still wondering when he turned 19 and 20 whether he might have a professional career ahead of him, only tasting one of Europe’s major leagues for the first time when he joined Leicester in 2015. That back story lends his rise a feel-good air, the aura of a fairy tale about a boy assumed to be too small to make it proving everyone wrong.

The job he does—selfless, in the shadows, no stage for showmanship—and the way he does it, with boundless industry and a smile on his face, lend themselves to the mythologizing. Kante’s role is to make others look good, to provide the platform for others to shine. It makes it easy to believe that he is, as public perception has it, the opposite of a superstar.

"

As footballers we need to do the commercial stuff sometimes. It's part of the deal.

It's something I have learned to do."

—He may not relish it but N'Golo Kante is no stranger to events and limelight

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Watching him at a promotional event a few weeks ago, it is clear it is not an act. Along with his Chelsea teammates Michy Batshuayi and Kepa Arrizabalaga—as well as Everton’s Moise Kean and the former Arsenal striker Ian Wright—he was invited by his shoe sponsor, Adidas, to a hangar in London’s emerging Nine Elms district for the launch of the Uniforia, the company’s ball for next year’s European Championships.

Kante does not necessarily relish this side of his work. “It is something I have learned to do,” he said. He knows, though, that it is part of the deal. “We need to do them sometimes.”

Batshuayi, Kean, and Arrizabalaga all seemed at ease under the bright lights, happily striking poses for the assembled photographers and Instagram influencers. Kante, the most high-profile player present, looked less comfortable.

As the centerpiece of the presentation, he was given the job of holding the new ball aloft. He had the broad, fixed smile of someone who knew he was being photographed. He held the ball at an arm’s length in front of him. He stood stock still, looking very much like a man focusing intently on doing a simple job well.

"

At first I was playing in front of 10 people in a park, then 1,000, then 10,000, then 80,000 and you're on television.

I'm still the same as I always was: Someone who plays football."

—N'Golo Kante's impassivity toward fame and pressure translates into his on-the-pitch consistency

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Perhaps the best description of Kante came from Steve Walsh, the veteran scout and coach responsible for plucking him from the French team Caen and bringing him to Leicester City. That Leicester team, Walsh joked, the one that produced the most extraordinary Premier League title imaginable, played with three in midfield: Danny Drinkwater holding, with Kante on either side.

That is how it feels to watch him play: As another joke during his first season in England had it, if 70 percent of the earth is covered by water, the rest is covered by Kante. At times, he feels like a one-man midfield: Scurrying left and right, front and back to extinguish danger, far stronger than his 5-foot-6-inch stature would suggest, easing opponents off the ball, harrying, harassing.

This is the work—not the art—of football; that is, at least, how Kante sees it. “I am not a superstar or an ego,” he said. “I am just the same as I always was: Someone who plays football.”

That is not to say he does not enjoy it. He is keen to point out that his shyness should not be mistaken for a lack of self-confidence. “I have always been discreet in my life,” he said. “But it has never been a problem playing. At first, I was playing in front of 10 people in a park, then 1,000, then 10,000, then 80,000 and you are on television. I have done it step by step, so it is not a problem. There is no lack of confidence to be on the field, in front of many, many people.”

"

I do get satisfaction in recovering a ball, in protecting my team from an opponent's attack.

But ultimately, the biggest satisfaction of all is to win."

—N'Golo Kante is simply obsessed with winning and the pleasure in so doing

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He takes great “satisfaction in recovering a ball, in protecting my team from an opponent’s attack.” He likes the sense of collective effort; he likes being part of a team. But most of all, he likes winning. Kante may be self-effacing. He may deserve his reputation as one of the sport’s good guys. He may be willing to sacrifice himself for the team. He may do the selfless work, laboring in the background so that others can shine.

But he does not do it out of the goodness of his heart. It may not be immediately apparent behind the smile, and it may not fit the image we have constructed of him, but what makes Kante such a force of nature, what drives football’s foremost artisan, is a ruthless competitive streak.

He is no less a master of his craft than Pirlo or Bergkamp; his craft just takes a different form. His inspiration is not the pursuit of beauty or some quixotic search for perfection. It is the collection of memories: the two Premier League titles, the Europa League, the World Cup. It is the photos afterward that remind him that all the toil and struggle, all the fetching and retrieving, was worth it. “The biggest satisfaction of all,” he said, “is to win.”

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